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THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 



THE 

QUEST ILLUSIVE 

TRUTH VS. FICTION 

By 

FRANCES McCALL LEWIS 


“Often from wrong’s own darkness, 
Comes the very strength of right ; 

And from lips that have tasted sadness. 
The sweetest songs will fall.’’ 


CHICAGO 

THE HOWELL COMPANY 

1916 



COPYRIGHT 1916 BY 
THE HOWELL COMPANY 


ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



DEC 21 1916 

©CI.A446877 


Tvo / . 


INTRODUCTORY 


T his little volume was written by a woman, the 
daughter of an old Southern family. The princi- 
pal character is a professional man of no little fame; 
in fact, is one who stands foremost in his line of work. 

Marie Corelli, in an introductory note to one of her 
books, says: 'There is no necessity to invent fables 
nowadays. The fictionist need never torture his brain 
for stories, either of adventure or special horror. Life 
itself as it is lived among ourselves in all countries 
is so amazing, swift, varied, wonderful, terrible, 
ghostly, and withal, so widely inconsistent and change- 
ful, that whosoever desires to write romance has but 
to closely and patiently observe men and women as 
they are, not as they seem, and then take pen in hand 
and write the truth.'' 

This story is a relation of absolute facts, without a 
vestige of fiction; it was written just as the incidents 
occurred. My object in putting it out under a nom de 
plume is a desire that the book may be received on 
its own merit, if it possess any. Also, the characters 
are too widely known to publish names. 

Following the Introductory is a review of the manu- 
script, written by one of >tlie most intelligent men it 
has been my good fortune td know — a reader of litera- 
ture of different classes and an impartial judge of same. 

It was this review, written by one whom I could 
trust and rely upon for an honest opinion, that gave me 


V 


INTRODUCTORY 


the confidence to send this message out to a thinking 
world. I truly believe that the era has arrived in 
which Woman is broader and stands for more than 
at any time heretofore. 

I know I am straying far afield from most of the 
rules of publication, but as my story differs so entirely 
from most others, in the fact that every word is the 
truth, I feel I can diverge from the old lines. 

The various quotations which I use, will, I trust, 
be pardoned, as they recurred to my mind as applicable 
to my own life and experiences. 

I hope this book will find its way into many homes 
and lives, and sincerely trust and pray it may be a 
lesson. Do not, because it overleaps the bounds of 
convention, forbid young girls to read it, as it must 
be remembered that it was lived and written by a 
woman reared under the strict laws of society, a 
woman also who recognizes and thoroughly appreci- 
ates the good in every one. Had I been granted the 
privilege of reading a book such as this, it might have 
prevented my falling into the many errors committed 
through ignorance and innocence. 

THE AUTHOR 
A REVIEW 

I THANK the Woman for this confidence. It will 
be respected on my honor. 

It has not before been my good fortune to know of 
such a great love. It almost passes my understanding. 
The love which this woman gave to this man is com- 


VI 


INTRODUCTORY 


parable only to those loves like Hero and Leander; 
or of Tristem and Ysolde, or the love which Mar- 
guerite gave to Faust. Those who have not truly 
loved have never truly lived. 

The Wanderer to whom the Woman gave this story 
has suffered in a similar way, but on account of the 
changing scenes of his life has been able to throw off, 
to a great extent, the sorrow and suffering which comes 
to those whose occupations in life give them time to 
think. I have schooled myself to forget. I have come 
away from the happiness which I knew could never be 
mine, and left it to those to whom the laws of society 
gave it. 

Such a love as is described in these pages passes far 
above and beyond mere passion, and the things con- 
nected with the intercourse of the sexes. This love is 
Divine and comes from Heaven. Truly the love of 
this woman was, and is, a love to be fought for ; one to 
die for. Truly in her love the world was his. I ask, 
did he know it? If I had a love like this, I would be 
willing to die a thousand deaths for it. 

I knew that this woman was beautiful in face and 
figure, but I never dreamed she had the soul which 
these lines bring out. With an inspiration like her to 
live for, I could live forever. I cannot understand 
how the MAN could give up such a love for the mere 
material things of life. I cannot judge him, however, 
‘‘Each heart knoweth its own sorrow.'’ Perhaps he 
did not give up the love and today clings to it in spite 


Vll 


INTRODUCTORY 


of the environment which hampers him in the open 
enjoyment of his affection. 

The Woman is brave. She should not reproach her- 
self. Her life is a noble one. She has given her life 
to him. What greater thing can one do than to make 
such a sacrifice. 

The Woman once remarked that some women were 
willing to sell their souls and bodies for a home and 
the material things of life. The Wanderer believes 
that God intended that only those men and women 
who love each other should enjoy each other. The 
intimate association which comes in the marital experi- 
ence is repulsive to me unless I love. The Woman 
undoubtedly viewed these relations from the same 
viewpoint and I regard her experience along those 
lines, as narrated, as being the holy relations which 
the Great Creator intended should exist between those 
who truly love. 

The Woman should be proud of her life. It has 
not been a failure as she seems to think. On the con- 
trary, I regard her as one who has passed through 
the fire of trial and sorrow for a great love. To me 
she is a heroine, gentle and true. I feel that this, I 
may say, chance happening upon the opening of the 
window of her lovely character, inspires me with the 
assurance that the world is not so bad; that it still 
holds hearts which are deep in their affections, and 
characters which men and women should emulate. 


viii 



4-^ 

i 


CHAPTER ONE 




THE 

QUEST ILLUSIVE 

CHAPTER ONE 

■C'ORSAKEN! Merciful Heaven, can there 
be another word in the English language 
that can convey to the mind such utter misery ! 
We read of the mother who forsakes her little 
ones, or of the husband and father forsaking 
his family. We know in a vague way that such 
conditions exist, yet how few of us have expe- 
rienced them in our lives ; and if we are, or feel 
that we are forsaken by those we love, we find 
ourselves adrift on the ocean of life, not know- 
ing where to anchor; wrecked, with neither 
rudder nor spar to guide us. 

If we lose confidence in those we love, per- 
force we lose it in others. It is when our hearts 
are torn and lacerated that we cry out to God, 
and to him we would cling. He must be true, 
our only Comforter when earthly aid fails us. 

I would that I could portray with my pen, a 
life that has contained many grave and serious 
mistakes. What a terrible thing it is to find 
your life lying in ruins about you; how gather 


II 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


up the threads? where begin? what tangible 
thing can we grasp as a foundation? 

Tonight visions rise before me. If I could 
only write them as they appear. Perhaps in 
years to come they might serve as a prayer to 
keep others from the same fate. Circum- 
stances are cruel facts that we may not over- 
come. I think, to a great extent, every life is 
governed by surroundings. Some natures are 
brave enough to conquer, but most of us find 
obstacles insurmountable, until finally we suc- 
cumb, or beat the wings of our soul against 
invisible bars, for whether we go on or return 
the end is one. I have found that all that is 
of this earth is an illusion, and the end, an 
absorption into the one all pervading force. If 
we are to be held accountable for our every act, 
why were we born with such varied disposi- 
tions? Oh! who can judge? What means a 
temptation to one would be quite the reverse to 
another. “Judge not that ye be not judged.” 

Lonely, so lonely, as I sit this evening with 
only my thoughts and my God. I can but 
wonder at the inscrutable designs of the Lord. 
The saddest day in life is when we awaken to 
the realization that we have placed confidence 
in our loved ones to have it betrayed, trampled 
under foot, seemingly with no care or thought 


12 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


of the sad heart it must leave ever in its wake. 
Perhaps God in his all-wise judgment allows 
this to show us that it is He alone who we can 
trust entirely and completely. 

What a grand, glorious thing is religion, 
causing us to feel and know that this life is only 
the rugged road that leads to a haven of rest. 
There must be an abode of infinite peace, else 
why are we poor mortals forced to pass 
through such fiery furnaces of torture, finding 
life so hard to endure, when every throb of the 
heart is a new pain, or an old one intensified? 
When the heart aches and the brain throbs 
with an agony so intense that with every fibre 
of our being we cry to God for surcease, we 
know that He is all love and pity. Never did 
our Lord refuse pardon or comfort while on 
earth ; the vilest sinner was not rebuked. 

It is not those who can weep their troubles 
away that are most deserving of pity. Rather 
it is those in whom the heart lives on itself and 
eats itself away. Life is a problem that I never 
have been able to solve. It is one long cease- 
less struggle,, and for what? We are born into 
this world mere atoms, through no desire of 
our own, oft-times very unwelcome guests, 
especially so, if we come into homes where pov- 
erty reigns. We struggle on from the begin- 


13 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


ning to the end; from the cradle to the grave. 
The poor for maintenance, the rich for power 
and fame. The poor are disconsolately un- 
happy, believing if they only had money, their 
every wish could be granted; and yet, when 
some great sorrow enters their lives, or comes 
into those of the rich, what little value they 
place upon material things. There are times 
when the rich envy the poor, for though in pos- 
session of wealth, their hearts are desolate, as 
gold is not a panacea for all ills, cares and 
vexations, as the poor, not knowing the truth, 
believe. 

As I soliloquize on life and try in my feeble 
efforts to solve the problem, these lines like a 
long forgotten song come into my mind : 

‘‘We wake to consciousness, we know not from what. 
Our wondering eyes behold the sky, the earth, the 
faces of kindred; our ears are entranced by loving 
voices, music and stir of the elements. We inhale per- 
fumed air; we taste food and are satisfied. We bask 
in sunshine; soft languor overpowers us. We sleep 
and are refreshed. We love ; a double sense awakens 
the soul to a richer life. O happy world, thy name is 
Paradise.” 

After such a love discord enters; the sun 
scorches and the winds chill. Harsh words and 
sorrowful wailings distract the ear. The fruit 


14 


THE QUEST 


ILLUSIVE 


of Eden turns to ashes on the lips; sleep for- 
sakes us; pains rack the body; fear torments 
the Soul. We fight in vain to retain our fleeting 
happiness. 

Ask of the countless millions, what do you 
need most for happiness; what would be the 
general answer ? Love ! This is what we have 
been taught, what we grow up to believe. 

Some would say, to be loved; some to love; 
some would place the love of God before the 
love of man. I.ove is a deep and general need 
for both man and woman. Woman needs it 
most. The sad old song tells us “The light of 
a whole life dies when Love is done.” 

Can you wonder at the desolation in the 
heart of a woman who had reached the years 
of maturity, who had longed (as all of us 
surely have longed) for a great love; to have 
possessed it for a while, then to have her ideal 
shattered, and to be left broken and forsaken, 
like a discarded flower, when all of life had 
seemed to blossom in its fairest and best? 
Truly discord enters, and we are completely 
lost like a mariner without his compass. Life 
seems a blank. We cannot discern the silver 
lining behind the clouds which apparently en- 
velope us in total darkness. God be merciful 


15 


THE 


QUEST ILLUSIVE 


to all of us when the clouds gather and we can- 
not see the light. 

LOVE, THE ILLUSION 

'Love is but a cobweb, wet with morning dew ; 

Love is but a fairy spell, invisible to view. 

A tread, a touch too heavy and the cobweb is not 
there ; 

A sigh too long and, lo ! the spell has vanished into air. 

"Love is just a morning-glory, doomed at noon to die; 

Love is only half a story — told in passing by ; 

Love is gold so delicate the faintest flame would 
melt it; 

Love is nothing — but God help the man (or woman) 
who ne’er has felt it.” 


i6 

\ 


CHAPTER TWO 


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CHAPTER TWO 


“Backward, turn backward, O Time in your flight. 
Make me a child again just for tonight; 
Mother, come back from the echoless shore. 

Take me again to your heart as of yore ; 


"Mother, dear Mother, the years have been long 
Since I last list to your lullaby song; 

Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem. 
Womanhood’s years have been only a dream." 

ET I would not have you back Dear Heart ; 
back into this world of pain and suffering. 
I know that in Heaven my mother is happy, and 
trust no possible gleam can reach her from this 
earth. She could not be happy, even in Heaven, 
were she to know the fate of her best loved 
ones, and the anguish endured by them. 

I will now push the camera back many years 
and endeavor in my poor way to present a 
photograph of the past. At times it will appear 
gloomy, but I trust little gleams of sunshine 
will partially compensate for a study of the 
picture as shown in these pages. 

That “Truth is stranger than fiction” will be 
verified as I reveal a story that is as strange 


19 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


as any ever conceived in fiction, every word 
and scene of which is true. There are no ex- 
tenuating circumstances, and I ask no mercy. 

As I sketch this first pen-picture, I trust I 
may not seem unpardonably vain: A young 
girl, scarcely fifteen years old, standing before 
a diminutive mirror, her cheeks rivalling the 
blush of the pinkest rose, her dark brown eyes, 
twin stars, gazing into the mirrored ones are 
the eyes of innocent childhood reflecting all the 
mysteries of dawning womanhood. That night 
was to be the turning point in her life. 

I had for the occasion, borrowed of my mar- 
ried sister (who, with husband and children 
were visiting us for a few days), a dark brown, 
woolen dress with brown velvet trimmings, 
which at that time, seemed very grand to me. 
Calico had been the best I had ever possessed. 
Well do I remember how the brown velvet next 
to my creamy white skin brought it out into 
such perfect relief that my sister stood beside 
me and marvelled. Only a few days previous 
I had overheard a friend say to my mother 
“What a beautiful girl you have.” Can you 
wonder that a flush of pleasure illumined my 
face as I gazed at the reflection and thought of 
all that life might hold in store for me? Only 
in a vague, dim way did I dream, as in my 


20 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


ignorance and innocence I had no possible 
chance of knowing the future. 

These lines from Laurence Hope are sug- 
gestive of youth with all its vain illusions : 

“Upon life’s pale and tragic face, 

Youth passes like a blush. 

It blooms an evanescent grace, 

Alas, for such a little space. 

And fading, hardly leaves a trace 
Of all its radiant flush. 

We cannot force one night to last. 

Or stay one single star at will. 

And though the pulse of youth is fast. 

The wings of time are swifter still.” 

Yet who would be willing to give up one 
single day of their youth? Is not youth, as 
fancy tells, life’s summer prime of joy? 

The angels in heaven must pity a poor girl 
with a beautiful face, surely it is a curse. She 
is surrounded and beset with temptations that 
a plain girl can never know and still less under- 
stand. If the poor girl is discontented and 
unhappy; her ideas soaring above her sur- 
roundings, unconscious that she has the power 
within herself to change her entire life and 
mode of living ; if she has but the, courage to 
strive and conquer, then indeed, it cannot be 
wondered that she makes grave and serious 
mistakes ; they seem inevitable. Parents often 


21 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


make woeful errors when they do not make 
home more pleasant for their children. No one 
can know or understand more fully than I, how 
extremely difficult it is to manage and provide 
with a pitifully limited income, having been 
reared in poverty; knowing nothing from baby- 
hood to maturity but dire necessity. 

The great men who have fought battles are 
not the only ones in life who deserve crowns. 
Take as an instance, a mother living in poverty, 
with a houseful of children. Her life is a bat- 
tle from early dawn ’till late at night, and oft- 
times on into the “wee sma’ hours,” with pov- 
erty as a frightful foe to be encountered at 
every turn of her road in life. Is she not a 
heroine ? 

Happy ! I wonder if I was ever happy. Per- 
haps a few short days and hours in a life time, 
and that is all in the past. As a child I was in- 
clined to be morose and must have been very 
unsocial. I can remember well how closely I 
stayed at home because other children had nice 
homes, while mine was so shabby that even 
then I felt ashamed to have my schoolmates 
know how unbearably poor we were. 

Pride ! Pride ! How I have suffered for it. 
As I grew older, my one thought was to escape 
from the unpleasant surroundings; not made 


22 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


terrible from any unkindness, as my Mother 
was the dearest and best of mothers and would 
have had everything entirely different had it 
been possible. I suppose all of us, or nearly 
all, feel the same about our mothers: regard- 
ing them as something pure and holy, far above 
everyone else. 

Notwithstanding the fact that I loved my 
mother devotedly, I caused her to suffer many 
days of anguish. As I recall it now I hardly 
think it was altogether selfishness, rather 
ignorance. It seemed that I was fated to go 
headlong to my doom. Not one hindrance had 
I, a child of fifteen, to enter such a purgatory. 
God in Heaven pity all who err. 


23 






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CHAPTER THREE 


“The day is done, and darkness falls from the wings of 
night, 

As a feather is wafted downward from an eagle in 
its flight.” 

A DREARY day in November was followed 
by a night equally disagreeable. It was 
one of those nights when it is a luxury to sit 
before an open fire. We all know, especially 
we who live in the South, that summer fre- 
quently lingers in the lap of winter, and ere we 
realize it cold weather will descend upon us, 
and how keenly we feel its chilling breath after 
the heat and languor of the summer. 

As I muse, long years after, how plainly I 
recall the day and night. The open fireplace 
piled high with logs ; the bare uncarpeted room, 
unfurnished with even what we now believe to 
be the necessities : a bed, table and chairs. A 
sewing machine was noticeable as my mother 
and I helped to make the scanty living. My 
earliest recollection of childhood is sitting at a 
sewing machine from early morn until, very 
often, late at night. 


27 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


This November night, my father with sev- 
eral others were gathered before the fire; my 
father all unconscious of the impending fate of 
his child. My mother was not feeling quite as 
well as usual. I could not or would not have 
left her had not my sister been there. In her 
presence opportunity seemed provocative and 
I in my foolish, headlong folly, thought it must 
have been providential. 

On that eventful day, the tempter had been 
present all through its dismal hours. Not in 
person did I see him, but in the form of small 
gifts and sweet little notes, pleading with me 
not to forget our compact. I had in a spirit of 
fun, not thinking it would be anything serious, 
consented to this compact, but Fate that day 
wore her most alluring smile. To my childish 
mind, as nearly as I can recall them, my 
thoughts were these: A man, handsome, with 
plenty of money, spending with a lavish hand ; 
not only that, but a man who all the girls I 
knew were raving about. I saw before me a 
home, pretty clothes and a handsome husband 
who I supposed would always be the same. Be- 
hind me was a home of poverty and toil. 

Please, if I am to be condemned, remember 
that I was only fifteen years old: the most sus- 
ceptible, consequently the most dangerous age, 

28 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


where girlhood hovers on the border of 
womanhood. 

“Standing with reluctant feet, 

Where the brook and river meet, 

Womanhood and childhood fleet.” 

The Man of mature age, dealing with a child, 
knew the pliability of the material he desired to 
mold. 

A runaway match ! It was only a lark. We 
would come back the next day, be forgiven and 
all would be well. . . . Better far had I 

entered that day into purgatory; the torture 
could not have been greater for the same length 
of time. 

Many long, long years have passed since that 
fateful November night, but as I write these 
lines my fingers grow numb and my blood 
seems to congeal in my body at the memory of 
those terrible days. What knew I of love or 
marriage? Only a child, one who had ever 
been reserved; between my own people and 
myself scarcely any real congeniality had ever 
existed. 

I loved my Mother devotedly, but she never 
quite understood me. Oh, Mothers! Teach 
your daughters. Tell them of life as it is. Do 
not let them reach the age of fifteen without 


29 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


knowing what life means. Nothing in this 
world is half so sweet as an innocent girl, but 
you must realize that she can be innocent with- 
out being ignorant. Take your children into 
your life ; make confidants of them. I am sure 
it will prevent many from straying so far from 
paths of rectitude. 

I did not intend to wander so far from my 
subject, but I feel that children need so much 
and often get so little. They are allowed to get 
all knowledge of life haphazard ; to absorb wis- 
dom as a sponge does water; yet they must 
grow up and are expected to be virtuous, with 
the fundamental principles of life a hidden 
page. I ask Mothers if this is right? 

Well do I remember how I stole quietly out 
of the fire-lit room; out of the house, into 
gloomy night, not a star to illumine the dark- 
ness. What an omen of my life! So it has 
been, with only little gleams of sunshine here 
and there in the impenetrable darkness. If only 
I had been warned ! I hesitated on the thres- 
hold. If I had gone back then as I should have 
done ! With all my ignorance, I intuitively felt 
that I should not go on ; but the fatal step was 
taken. I went headlong to my doom. Once 
outside there was no opportunity to return as I 


30 


THEQUEST ILLUSIVE 

: found someone waiting to lure and encourage 
a silly child. 

Ah ! I feel that I must stop or I shall go mad ! 
To think that I did such a thing, that I married 
such a man! Surely it is only a dream after 
all. I will finish this sometime when I have 
more courage. Would that I could forget the 
past altogether! It is hard for women to 
forget. 

“It is easy enough to laugh when there is happiness in 
sight. 

But when hope has fled. Ah! then, indeed, it is a 
hero’s feat; 

To conjure a smile in the face of defeat.’’ 




CHAPTER FOUR 



CHAPTER FOUR 


“Another chapter from the book of life is given to us, 
With leaves uncut as yet. 

Written full large in sin’s unfading ink. 

Line upon line that ne’er can be effaced. 

Making us pause ; impelling us to think.’’ 

HERE comes to every individual a time 
when life must be faced in all of its stern 
realities. It is sad to contemplate a long ex- 
panse of future years that can be shortened 
only by the will of God, and no matter how 
hard to endure, we realize that we must await 
His own good judgment. We cannot doubt 
our God or that His divine will is for the best; 
yet when time drags its ceaseless round day 
after day, we wonder how long, oh God, how 
long can we endure ! 

Writers of fiction in their most vivid imag- 
ination could not depict a stranger story of life 
than mine. Full of faults, yet through all the 
varied scenes, have there been no redeeming 
traits ? Are there not many of us, who, if the 
truth were known, have been more sinned 
against than sinning? How true and applicable 
are these lines : 


/ 


35 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


“Our friends keep a critical eye on our deeds, 

But the fine interlining of causes, who heeds ; 

The long list of heartaches which leads to rash acts. 
Would bring pity, not blame, if the world knew the 
facts.” 

After I was married a few days, perhaps a 
week (truly not long to live in a fool’s paradise, 
as nearly all newly married people do, or try to 
think they do), my Father entered my room 
with a letter and photograph, sent to him by 
my husband’s wife, of whose existence I had 
known nothing. My father could not have 
felt worse had he learned that my husband 
was a murderer. How vividly the scene comes 
back to me: My father standing before me, 
with those accusing things crushed in his 
hand. I can hear his voice through the vista 
of years, filled with a world of sorrow and 
pity, “Oh my child, what have you done? 
Could my ignorance of her existence soften the 
pangs of the poor deserted wife ? Only a few 
lines, but quite enough to change the whole cur- 
rent of my life, thoughts and feelings. True, 
the man was divorced, but I had been reared 
by good old-fashioned parents who thought a 
divorce equal to, or worse than a crime. 

Can you imagine the horror that flooded my 
soul as the truth forced its way through my 

36 


^ T HE QUEST ILLUSIVE 

dazed mind? Married to a man, his wife by 
law, yet not his wife. I could never feel that 
I was rightfully married. 

My father, an upright man, only saw in the 
heart-broken lines from the forsaken wife, that 
my husband had been worse than a murderer. 
He had deserted his wife and child ; the woman 
who had loved and trusted him. I never loved 
him. What knew I of love at fifteen years of 
age? A foolish, romantic child, tired of the 
drudgery of poverty, thinking only to escape 
from an humble home. How often have I al- 
most cursed poverty. Had my surroundings 
possessed the least attraction, I know my life 
would have been vastly different, but having 
experienced nothing but poverty in its most 
goading form, life seemed unendurable. I had 
not the remotest idea of marriage or its mean- 
ing. I had yielded blindly, persuaded against 
my better judgment. 

For a short time I had an elegant home, or 
so it seemed to me at that time, possessing 
every luxury available, yet I never felt that it 
should be mine, it belonged to another. 

Alas ! My home was soon gone, again pov- 
erty, almost degradation stared me in the face. 
If the man I married had possessed any attri- 
butes of a gentleman, had he been one for 

37 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


whom I could have felt a particle of respect, 
perhaps I might, in time have felt differently, 
but after his exposure all the vileness of his 
nature came to the surface. I cannot dwell 
upon it. To say he was a fiend would not ade- 
quately express it. To say that I lived four 
years in Hades would not give a faint concep- 
tion of what I endured. Oh, what dreadful 
years! Sometimes I think they surely must 
have been a dream ; that such a monster never 
existed, but alas, I know how real they were. 

The kindest, in fact, the only really kind act 
to me was in taking me to his mother ; the best 
and dearest of mothers. I know she loved me 
then and does now, as much as she loves her 
own children. She was good and kind to me. 
What a dear, good Christian she is. The Lord 
truly helps her to carry great burdens. He 
certainly is her refuge when storms of life as- 
sail. I know her prayers always have been for 
me, and they have shielded me from many 
errors. 

After four years of torture, patience ceased 
and for my own sake, that I might retain one 
vestige of self-respect, I threw aside the 
shackles of convention as I had been taught 
them, and left the man who was my husband 

38 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


by law but surely not as God intended. He 
became intolerable. 

Scene after scene of that time rises before 
me. Sometimes I pick up a book, only to drop it 
with a shudder, something I had read recalled 
outrages that are hard to forget. 

I say I suffered at that time, young and sen- 
sitive, to live with a demon, a drunkard, a 
brute. However, I was yet to learn the real 
meaning of how a heart can be made to ache. 
My pride was hurt and often I suffered physic- 
ally from inhuman blows inflicted. One scar 
implanted by his hand I will carry to my grave. 
I think his chief object in life was to see me 
sink as low as he had fallen and when my soul 
recoiled his anger knew no limit. 

God alone knows how I tried to endure my 
life, believing it would be sinful and disgrace- 
ful to leave him. After I was compelled to do 
so, my father insisted upon getting a divorce 
for me, which was readily granted. My hus- 
band did not possess a friend in the community ; 
every one seemed to know his character. 

The year before my darling mother had died. 
When I stood beside her as she lay in her last 
peaceful sleep, not one tear could I shed. Even 
at that early period, my life had become so 
crushed and embittered, my one prayer was for 


39 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 

death to end the anguish. She had crossed the 
“Great Divide” to infinite happiness and I 
thought how much better it would be if I could 
go with her through the dark shadows. Death 
held no terrors for me as did life. I seemed to 
have drunken of the cup of misery, until naught 
was left but the last deadly dregs. 

I did not know what woe life still held in 
store for me. Knowing, I could never have 
had the courage to face it. I was an innocent, 
unhappy woman. God in his goodness and 
mercy might have pardoned me then, but now, 
oh God, can I ask, can I expect it? What my 
punishment will be is more than I can conceive. 

Why, oh why, am I sitting alone here tonight 
writing this? Perhaps some day it will be 
thrust into the fire to commingle with the ashes 
of relics of the past, or, after I am dead, it may 
come to light, the true life story of a broken- 
hearted woman. I pray that whoever reads, 
will perceive in it a warning, and if they want 
to pass through life with as few heartaches as 
possible, never love. Study stoicism, self- 
dependence and endurance, anything but love. 
Never place confidence in any one. Trust 
your own soul; that is all you can trust, else 
your confidence surely will be destroyed and 
your life be more desolate than ever before. 


40 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Are there any I wonder who would have the 
hand of time turned back were it possible; to 
live their lives over again just the same? I 
do not think there are many who would care to 
travel the same road. How little of my life 
would I accept as a gift. Perhaps, could I pick 
and cull it over, a few short weeks or days, but 
if any of the intermediate time were to accom- 
pany them, I would not accept one day. 

God pity the man or woman who loves with 
the great, absorbing passion that comes but 
once in a life time. Love, to a woman of my 
nature is a hideous slavery. I can only pray 
to God to help me cast off the fetters and make 
me free. 

"There is no loneliness that can so sadden and oppress. 
As when beside the burned out fire of sated passion 
and desire, 

The wakening spirit in a glance, 

Beholds its lost inheritance.” 




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“Oh World, so few the years we live, 

Would that the life which thou dost give were life 
indeed. 

Alas ! Thy sorrows fall so fast. 

Our happiest hour is when at last the Soul is freed.” 

— Longfellow. 

A FTER my father procured the divorce for 
me, I had no home. My mother being 
dead, Father was living with my sister, and the 
best I could do was to go there also. It was 
then I learned another sad lesson. Why, oh 
why is the world cursed with so many mean, 
contemptible men. It was not until then that 
I realized of what kind of people a large part 
of this world is composed. 

My Father seemed to lose all energy after 
my mother’s death, so that I could not depend 
upon him. Broken in health and spirit, he did 
not long survive her ; consequently I was 
thrown on the world at the age of nineteen to 
fight the battle of life unaided. 

I remained a few months in my sister’s home 
where I was thrown into the society of many 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


men. Admirers I had by the score, but 1 was 
a divorced woman, and I soon learned to know 
how they regarded me, which caused me to en- 
tertain utter contempt for them. 

Sometimes I think it is only handsome 
women who fully understand the contemptible 
part many men play in this world. Beauty 
brings them in contact with the sensual side of 
man’s nature. An unattractive woman may 
go to her grave believing there are many good 
men. May she never be undeceived. 

My good old mother-in-law, who had loved 
me through all the vicissitudes of the past 
years, soon sent for me. I went to her in her 
Connecticut home, away from the South and 
my own people; the land where for so many 
years I had known nothing of joy. She took 
me to her heart and loved me with a pure, un- 
dying love. She taught me all that lay within 
her power, how to be self-sustaining. 

During the few months I remained in her 
home, I lost my dear Father, which left me en- 
tirely and utterly alone, with my vigorous 
young womanhood my sole possession. I 
thanked my God devoutly that I had no chil- 
dren. With my youth and strength I had to 
face life. Life must be lived; it was a relent- 
less fact. 


46 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 

I started again on a journey; went to a small 
town in the South in another State, with all the 
confidence that we have in youth, and the 
strong determination to succeed. I launched 
out into the business world, and have had a 
fairly successful business career; yet I have 
labored under many difficulties. I have not 
been practical, the ideal has always appealed 
to me stronger than the commonplace things of 
life. 

I have truly had to fight a hard battle. Ah 
well ! The way is a mystery and who am I that 
I should try to solve it or expect to understand, 
when kings and philosophers have failed. 
Well ! Well ! It’s all over now, ’tis vain to re- 
gret that I did not try a different way. I might 
have had to pay a greater price, for nothing 
lacks its price-mark on life’s counter (more’s 
the pity), and if we are deceived by long cred- 
its, the greater fools we. At any rate, I have 
my pictures safe. I like to think that God is 
no less forgiving than the nature through 
which He tries to lead us. So ends this chap- 
ter of my life. 


47 







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CHAPTER SIX 



CHAPTER SIX 


'*1 stand on the brink of a river, 

The river of life to me, 

Where the billows of memory quiver 
And rise and fall like the sea. 

There are scenes from life’s fair morning. 
That comes like the break of day. 

Or a beautiful landscape’s dawning, 

When the mists have cleared away.” 


— Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 



FTER locating in my new home and think- 


ing we could make a living there, I sent 
for my sister. With her family she came to 
me in a few weeks, so I really had a home, if 
a place where poverty reigns can be called a 
home ; yet it was better than none, I assure you. 
My sister had several small children, and they 
were very poor. All who have been poor, and 
lived in such homes can easily picture what I 


mean. 


In the course of several months, I met a gen- 
tleman who was a constant visitor at my sis- 
ter’s. Naturally I was thrown with him fre- 
quently. I think what first attracted my 
attention was the contrast between him and 


51 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


most of the men I had known. No two men 
could have been more extremely opposite than 
he and my former husband. This man was 
plain and unassuming with not an immoral 
habit. 

At that time he held a good position, and his 
devotion to me seemed unlimited. Desperate, 
partly through a haunting fear that I could 
hardly define (being constantly pursued by a 
relentless foe), and partly through discontent 
caused by my surroundings; I married him. 
Knowing now what love means, I realize that 
I did not love him. However, I respected him 
and do yet, although we are so far apart. He 
had many admirable qualities, and if circum- 
stances had been, as I trusted they would be, I 
would still be his wife, and probably would 
have gone through life, as many thousands do, 
satisfied in a way, never realizing what love 
means to those who feel and know. 

Long years ago I read a book by Henry 
Seton Merriman. I remember his version of 
love, and I think it indicative in many in- 
stances. “There is no word in any spoken 
language that covers so wide a field, every day 
and all day. We call many things love which 
are not love. The real thing is as rare as 
genius, but we usually fail to recognize its 

52 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


rarity. We misuse the word, for we fail to 
draw the necessary distinctions. We fail to 
recognize the plain and simple truth : that many 
of us are not able to love, just as there are 
those who are not able to play or sing. We 
raise up our voices and make a sound, but it is 
not singing. We marry and give in marriage, 
but it is not love. Love is like a color, say blue, 
and the outer shades are at last, not blue at all, 
but green or purple. So in love, there are a 
thousand shades, but very few of them are 
worthy of the name.” 

God surely thought it best, or it would not 
have been so. Another and greater disappoint- 
ment awaited me. “Too late we know the good 
from the bad; the knowledge is no pleasure 
then, being memory’s medicine, rather than the 
wine of hope.” 

Like a man unkilled, who has fallen from 
some great height and hardly dares to conjec- 
ture the extent of his own injuries, my hopes 
lay in ruins about me. A great fear of some- 
thing behind my sorrow more terrible than the 
sorrow itself, filled my mind. What a fearful 
thing the existence of self. 

Among the weary toils and troubles that 
come upon us every day, we find comfort in 
the thought of our pillows with their gift of 


53 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


soft forgetfulness, or in the peace of resigna- 
tion which will be ours on abandoning the 
hopeless struggle; but in the deeper sense of 
the words, we shall rest from ourselves never ! 
Self lies upon self like an ever living coal of 
fire. It is indeed overwhelming. It is hard 
for me to manage myself. Condemnations I 
heap upon my own head with what avail; the 
same day will find me suffering the same pangs, 
only more poignant than the preceding day. 

Life with all of its vicissitudes is hardly 
bearable. God in mercy help me; I cannot help 
myself. 

“Blinded, others have trod the way before 
Still the quest goes on, 

And we who have not found our heart’s desire, 
Marvel at those who have.” 


54 


CHAPTER SEVEN 



CHAPTER SEVEN 


THE BOOK OF LIFE 

'"Each day in life is like a spotless page, 

That comes to us for writings, vain or sage. 

Upon its face that which we say or do 
Is written down, the false, the good, the true. 

'*Each year a chapter is, that tells the tale 
Of joy or grief, success or failure pale. 

In sickness and in health, ambitions, fears, 

Our good and evil deeds, our smiles and tears. 

*'And at the last, a book the record stands, 

The history of self, by our own hands. 

By self alone made ; bound and fully writ, 

No word or thought or deed escaping it.*' 

— John Kendrick Bangs. 

had been married three months when 
^ ^ my husband lost his position and I had 
to resume my business and maintain the house- 
hold as best I could. About that time, a young 
man came to us. A few days after his arrival, 
on passing through the dining room, I found a 
letter on the table, addressed to me. Opening it, 
I discovered it was a repetition of the former 


57 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


experience; a living wife and three children, 
one of whom was this young man. Oh God! 
Was there ever a woman living who had great- 
er trials! 

Knowing the story of my early life his ex- 
cuse was he felt confident I would not marry 
him if I knew he was a divorced man; and I 
would never have done so. He pleaded his 
love for me was so great that he risked my 
displeasure feeling sure I would forgive him. 

Again every hope of my life was blaseted, 
but as God is my witness, I did not shirk in 
any way what I deemed my duty. I now be- 
lieve that duty, where there is no love, is a mis- 
taken idea. It wrecks two lives instead of one. 
I do not believe that God demands it. How- 
ever, not an unkind word did I ever say to him, 
I offered only kindness to the man who had de- 
ceived me so cruelly. 

I had often wondered why he had no money 
after years of constant work, possessing ex- 
emplary habits. Now I readily understood ; he 
was or had been taking care of his children. 
To me it was an ever present belief that he 
should be with his wife and children and not 
with me. 

He was kind and indulgent, no unpleasant 
words ever passed between us. As the months 

58 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


went by life grew intolerable. I felt I could 
never live it through. I fought, or tried to 
fight, all such thoughts, but a chasm yawned 
between us which we could or would not 
bridge. I cannot recall the time, when an in- 
definable feeling arose. There was no appar- 
ent cause for it. I had realized long since 
that I did not love my husband, as I felt 
within myself I could love, yet I loved no one 
else and I tried to endure my life. 

After a little more than two years, my baby 
came and for a short while I was happier than 
I had ever been, although hard work and pov- 
erty had never confronted me so sternly as 
at that time. Everything my husband attempt- 
ed, seemed to be a failure, and when baby was 
five weeks old, he left us, going elsewhere in 
search of employment. 

I did not realize to what financial straits I 
had been reduced, believing I still had a little 
money in the bank; enough to tide me over 
for awhile. On sending for it, I found that 
every cent was gone, my husband had drawn 
my little savings for his personal use. I was 
left penniless, absolutely helpless, unable to sit 
up, with the care of an infant five weeks old. 
My room rent and board were due, also nurse 
and doctor bills. All I possessed was two 

59 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


dollars and a few cents. I but vaguely remem- 
ber, how I lived through the ensuing days. The 
people with whom I roomed were very good 
to me. Had they been my own parents they 
could not have done more for me. Fortunately 
in a few weeks I was able to return to my 
position, which my condition had forced me to 
give up temporarily. Every one was kind and 
in a short time I had funds with which to pay 
my debts. 

I never had the opportunity to care for my 
baby as other mothers but she was healthy and 
bright, and such a good baby. She loved her 
old negro “mammy” and was happy without 
her mother for many long hours. 

My husband and I were growing further 
apart each day, we drifted I scarcely know 
how. He returned when baby was a few 
months old. I had settled all of my business 
affairs and was making a good salary. He 
came as he went, with no employment. He had 
hoped to secure a position but had failed. His 
efforts seemed earnest but met with ill success. 
He worried over his failures and I felt sorry 
for him. I have recently learned why he could 
not get a position. He had occupied a good 
one for so many years, I thought it strange, 
yet did not understand. I was, of course, the 

6o 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


last one to know. He had been blacklisted ; 
the reason for which I never learned. Can you 
wonder that at such a time I virtually lost re- 
spect for a man who could see his wife working 
her very life away, while he sat around idle, 
apparently helpless ? 

Baby was idolized by both of us, but in- 
stead of being a bond to unite us, she seemed 
to fulfill individually only a long felt want in 
our hearts and to her we each turned for 
affection. She completely monopolized my 
heart ; naturally having a most affectionate dis- 
position to live without love is almost impossi- 
ble. 

If my husband had understood my disposi- 
tion, I think he could have retained my regard 
and esteem, if not my love, but he grew in- 
different, and accepted everything as a mat- 
ter of course. That we were married seemed 
quite enough for him. What mistakes men 
make. Love is a woman’s existence; without 
it she is like a flower without sunshine. Yet 
so many men who have good loving wives, 
crush every overture of affection. They think 
that having married their duty is at an end. 
They do not object to being loved and having 
home made pleasant for them, but they forget 
or quite overlook all the little amenities of life 

6i 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


themselves. “Why, she is my wife,” they think 
in their sordid minds. “Of course, I love her, 
the fact is evident, did I not marry her ?” 

Oh, what a mistake ! If you love your wife, 
tell her so occasionally, or every day; many 
times a day. It makes the day seem much 
shorter for her. If she has cares and worries, 
she will have something pleasant to think of. 
Put your arms around her ; make her feel that 
she has you to lean on and depend upon; make 
her know and understand that she is all the 
world to you. If you have not been in the 
habit of doing it, it may seem awkward at 
first, but try it once and see if the sunshine 
reflected in her face does not repay you a 
thousandfold. Do not make the mistake of 
waiting too long, until your caresses become 
repulsive, which is inevitable if she is neg- 
lected. 

“Amid the cares of married life, 

In spite of toil and business strife, 

If you value your wife — ^tell her so. 

“Prove to her you don’t forget. 

The bond to which the seal is set. 

She’s of life’s sweet the sweetest — tell her so. 

“There was a time you thought it bliss 
To get the favor of one kiss. 

A dozen now w'on’t come amiss — ^tell her so. 

62 


T PI E 


QUEST ILLUSIVE 


'*Don’t act, if she has passed her prime, 

As though to please her were a crime. 

If e'er you loved her, now's the time — tell her so. 

‘'She'll return for each caress 
An hundredfold of tenderness. 

Hearts like hers were made to bless — tell her so. 

“You are hers and hers alone. 

Well you know she's all your own. 

Don't wait to carve it on a stone — tell her so. 

“Never let her heart grow cold, 

Richer beauties will unfold. 

She is worth her weight in gold — ^tell her so." 


63 








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CHAPTER EIGHT 




CHAPTER EIGHT 


''We are the players of a play as old as earth. 

There is no record of the land 
From whence it came. 

No legend of the playwright's hand. 

No bruited fame of those 
For whom the piece was cast. 

In the first night 

When God drew up the curtain vast, 

And there was light before our eyes, as we came on. 
From age to age, flare up the footlights of the dawn. 

"On this round stage in front, unknown. 

Vague shadows loom beyond the glare; 

And sounds like muttering winds are there, 

Forboding doom. 

Yet wistfully we keep the boards 
And as we mend. 

The blundering forgotten words, 

Hope to the end. 

When the dark prompter gives us pause, and we 
retire." 

T N THE course of a few weeks a position 
^ was offered to me in a far Northwestern 
city. I accepted it with the proviso that em- 
ployment also would be given my husband. 
Inquiry was made as to his ability, and it 
was agreed that he should accompany me. On 
my return from New York where my business 

67 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


had called me, I told him of the offer. We 
were good friends, yet not one token of affec- 
tion passed between us. He received a tele- 
gram the very day of my return, stating the 
position was awaiting him. He started that 
same afternoon with the understanding that 
I would follow as soon as released from my 
present engagement; it was eight months 
before I could arrange to go. 

I debated long and seriously, trying to de- 
cide what was best to do. I felt for my baby’s 
sake I should go, so I left my Southern home 
to join my husband. Rather, my baby’s father 
and my friend, (as he still is) one to whom 
I feel I could go in trouble, and his feeling is 
the same for me, I am sure. For two years 
and a half we lived as husband and wife in 
name only until my life became unbearable, and 
I again broke the bonds assunder. 

A position was offered to me at my old home 
in the South, and as my little daughter was 
not enjoying the best of health her father was 
as anxious as I for the change for her sake. 
I did not know or dream what the future might 
hold in store for me. I only knew I could not 
live the present life any longer; I must get 
away from it; that was the thought upper- 
most in my mind. The position offered was 

68 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


the avenue of escape, so baby and I left our 
Rocky Mountain home and returned to the 
South, my native land. 

I felt no compunction in leaving my husband, 
as he had a good position and did not need my 
help; womanlike I had clung to him with no 
thought of leaving so long as he was in need 
of my assistance. We corresponded regularly, 
generally business letters, but always full of 
“Baby.” That is where his heart was centered. 

After our return to the South, with noth- 
ing in the future except my baby to live for, 
I felt I could face the world bravely and was 
not unhappy. I realized that many mistakes 
had come into my life, but they had been un- 
avoidable and unintentional. Circumstances 
had been against me. I felt, like all the world, 
that into each life some hope lies hidden. I 
was still young, only twenty-seven, and in my 
ignorance of future trials, I was brave. I 
secured a divorce, as it seemed best, my hus- 
band reluctantly consented. 

Hope in the future is truly the essence of 
life. Hope alone nerved me for the contest 
of life. Take hope out of life and there is 
little left worth the pains and struggles. Hope 
is to life what sunshine is to vegetation, the 
great vivifier. When it is crushed life becomes 

69 


THE 


QUEST ILLUSIVE 


flat and insipid. The little streamlet that 
rushes on in all its freshness, sparkle and flash, 
is a symbol of life rejuvenated with hope; 
beyond it is a goal. On and on it goes, leap- 
ing from rock to rock down the mountain side, 
ceaseless and untiring, gladdening the valley 
beyond, until it reaches its home in the bosom 
of the ocean. The stagnant pond whose waters 
are dead is symbolic of life devoid of hope, 
its waters are still and putrid upon its surface ; 
it displays all the impurities and stench of its 
nature; in stagnation it stands a blessing to 
none, a menace to many. So a life without 
hope is dead to all those finer and better feel- 
ings and instincts which not alone give tone 
to self, but it is through these that it touches 
its fellows and sheds its influence on all with 
whom it comes in contact. 

The actual pleasures of life are few, or we 
do not properly realize and appreciate them 
as they come. It is that which lies beyond 
which we hope to reach; the contemplation 
of which affords happiness. We each have a 
guiding star that sheds its light along our 
pathway illuminating it and enabling us to 
see in the distance that for which our soul 
yearns. Alas, when that sustaining power is 
utterly destroyed, what is life! Now not one 


70 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


ray of hope illumines the darkness into which 
I peer. The human heart can play no more 
difficult role, than to keep on with its every 
day monotonous pulsations so far as the world 
can see, when in reality every heart throb is 
a measured duration of infinite pain. 

"This life is a dangerous play. 

Each human soul must watch alway, 

From the very first to the last. 

I care not however strong and pure, 

Let no one say they are perfectly sure. 

The dangerous reefs are past; 

For many a rock may lurk nearby. 

That never is seen when the tide is high.” 

“Let no one boast when the hand is full of 
trumps. Beware, for then it is that thought 
and nerve are needed most.” 


71 


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CHAPTER NINE 



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CHAPTER NINE 


AWAKENED 

'‘Eve dreamed the best of life away, 

The days of hope, and love and youth, 

And I am face to face with the truth, 

With nothing more to do or say. 

''But let it go ; I would not trade 
The dear delusions I have known ; 

The fairy castles overthrown. 

For all the fortunes men have made. 

"My castles have been built in vain ; 

My dreams have all been false, and yet 
My heart would suffer no regret. 

If I could only dream again.'' 

— Whitney Montgomery. 

ALONE, with nothing to do but pick up 
the threads of my life and review them 
as often I do. What strange, mysterious, 
thoughts the night suggests to us. Whether 
alone, or with the pure rays of the moon keep- 
ing us company, or, with curtains drawn and 
lights surrounding us, the thoughts of night 
are wafted to us like angehs whispers as we 
sit and muse, and dream. 


75 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Sometimes it is an echo of the past which 
the silence brings to us ; then again, the future 
beckons to us with bright spread pinions. We 
look at her in admiration and wonder, and 
dream on. Hope lingers and we dream that 
happiness will yet be within our grasp. If 
darkness enshrouds us, God in his merciful 
wisdom has so ordained that we cannot dis- 
cern its thickening folds, and we live on in 
our paradise. But tonight, it is neither the 
present nor the future that is vivid in my mind, 
but spectres of the past. 

After my return to the South, I lived for 
a time seemingly happy and contented. True, 
I had no home, but I was very pleasantly sit- 
uated in a boarding house. My little daughter 
was well cared for, and every one was good 
to her while I worked early and late. Yet how 
I longed for a home; even a cottage that I 
could call my own and the necessary means 
with which to provide it. My sole thought, 
and desire at that time was to be placed in 
a position where I could have the entire care 
of my baby girl, as she was my idol, and I 
never had the opportunity to care for her as 
I wished. 

In the course of a few months I was thrown 
into the company of an agreeable man. I met 

76 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


him at the dinner table, quite a commonplace 
beginning for a romance, the termination of 
which was more tragic than romantic. 

This gentleman fell violently in love with 
me, without conceit I may say that my face 
was still fair to look upon. I greatly admired 
him as he was very congenial. He never over- 
looked the many little courtesies which are 
dear to a woman’s heart. He was my slave. 
My slightest wish was his law. I had but to 
voice a desire to have him render at once his 
entire obedience. 

Naturally I was pleased with such idolatry. 
Had not my heart been starved so long? Had 
I not lived for years without receiving the 
smallest courtesy? I was like a hungry, thirsty 
traveller in a desert. I could not fail to appre- 
ciate his devotion at a time when my life was 
utterly void of any worldly pleasures. Every 
effort seemed to be exerted towards my hap- 
piness. It is not every woman who is so for- 
tunate as to have such a love bestowed upon 
her. As my one great desire was to have a 
home for my baby I thought this was my 
opportunity. 

Yet I did not wish to hurry, as my past 
experience had been a bitter lesson to me. To 
his earnest entreaties for me to marry him 


77 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I answered “Wait.” I was not at all sure of 
myself. I could not understand why such a 
love as he freely lavished on me, and the high 
regard which he possessed for me were not 
more readily reciprocated. I believed it was 
because I was skeptical, and thought “it is 
not possible for me to love anyone; my life 
has contained too much bitterness.” I hesi- 
tated and deferred reply to his plea. 

In the meantime my sister and family had 
moved into a larger house and I made my 
home with them. One of my nieces and a 
nephew had grown almost to maturity; the 
other children were younger. We composed 
a merry household. My friend was a welcome 
guest at all times and was quite at home with 
us. We spent many pleasant evenings to- 
gether with cards and books as our amuse- 
ment. He was the life of the house and made 
everyone bright and happy. Christmastide 
especially was a most delightful time. 

The house was beautifully decorated with 
mistletoe; an appetizing repast was spread in 
the dining room. My niece had several of 
her young friends as guests, and fun was ram- 
pant. My spirits rose to unwonted heights. 


78 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I remember how happy I was, and how I kept 
the conversation at the table stirring. 

We laughed and made merry, never dream- 
ing of the dread, dark spectre that was even 
then in our midst. During the afternoon my 
friend complained of feeling ill. I served cof- 
fee to him in the parlor, thinking he would 
feel better for the slight refreshment, which 
he did, and through the evening seemed to have 
completely recovered. 

Alas, for our happy Christmas! A few 
days later my friend was stricken with a fatal 
illness. I then had an opoprtunity to repay 
him for his loving kindness to me. We had 
an engagement to attend the theatre one even- 
ing, as the hour of eight had passed and he 
did not come, I was sure something dreadful 
had happened as he had always punctually kept 
the most trivial engagement. 

Acting upon the impulse of the moment, I 
asked my brother-in-law to accompany me to 
the man’s room, as he was rooming with 
friends of mine. There we found him very, 
very ill, and I refused to leave him, for which 
I was severely criticised. No thought of con- 
vention entered my mind, or if it had, I would 
have acted just the same. He was my friend. 


79 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


he was alone, away from his people, with no 
one but me to care for him. I had no other 
thought than to remain and do all I could for 
him, 

I shall always remember how grateful he 
was, and how happy it made him; also that 
he recognized me to the last and expressed 
his gratitude. Had I known that the whole 
world would have forsaken me for that one 
act, I would not have wavered for an instant. 
No thought of self would have deterred me. 
It was at his bedside that I met the man I 
love. He was my friend’s physician. As I 
looked into his face for the first time, a 
strange indefinable thrill swept my being; a 
feeling that some great, controlling power had 
entered my life. 

At my expressed desire, he left with me all 
orders regarding the patient. I administered 
all medicines. As the dawn was breaking, my 
friend showed signs of growing rapidly worse, 
and we sent for the physician. As I watched 
him approaching through the dimness of the 
breaking day, I again experienced that strange 
thrill. I do not believe in the supernatural, yet 
some very unusual things have occurred in my 
own personal feelings, not hearsay or imagin- 
ary, but realities. 


8o 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


We worked together faithfully, but our ef- 
forts were of no avail; the Angel of Death 
was our triumphant foe. My friend was ill 
only five days ; stricken down in apparent 
health and vigorous manhood. He begged to 
live. I can see his large blue eyes now, when 
the physician reluctantly told him that it was 
hardly possible for him to recover. His eyes 
sought mine for confirmation of the truth; 
they reminded me of some wild, hunted ani- 
mal, they were large and clear, and filled with 
a nameless fear and wonder. 

God’s decree had gone forth, and as the sun 
dropped noiselessly in the West, the grim 
Reaper silently beckoned to him, and with a 
lingering look of love and devotion to me, his 
answering spirit wended its silent way to the 
great beyond. 

I was disconsolate. Death seemed a terri- 
ble thing. When we are young, we cannot face 
death with any degree of calmness. I remem- 
ber how utterly desolate I felt when the physi- 
cian came to me and in his sweet kind way 
expressed his sympathy ; how he regretted the 
death of my friend, and that all his power had 
been as naught to stay the dread hand of death. 
He told me how, a few months earlier, he had 
lost his beloved wife and how sad and dreary 

8i 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


his life had become. I think a bond of sympa- 
thy sprung up between us then. 

He also told me how nobly he thought I had 
acted; that not one woman out of a thousand 
would have been so unselfish. I hardly under- 
stood at the time just what he meant, as what 
I had done did not appear to merit either praise 
or condemnation. I had unconsciously served 
my friend as best I could. 

What a change had come to our home. 
Gloom had settled like a pall where before all 
was sunshine. The shuttle had moved to and 
fro and its web was woven with so intricate 
a pattern that it truly seemed a hopeless task 
to find the ending. 

“Could we but open the book of ages, and look 
upon the secret pages where Time had penned Man’s 
destiny. Could mortal mind but comprehend Man’s 
beginning and his end, Alas, the when, the why, the 
where. God doth mercifully spare.’’ 

— James J. Ham iter. 


82 


CHAPTER TEN 


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CHAPTER TEN 


‘'Come fill the cup with the wine of 
Life and Love and Truth. 

Your winter garment of repentance fling aside, 
Everything is yours; the birds of time as yet, have 
But a little way to flutter 
Before you are freed again, 

To take up your still higher and fuller life. 

“The worldly hope men set their hearts upon, 

Turns to ashes or it prospers, and anon. 

Like snow upon the desert's dusty face. 

Lighting a little hour or two, was gone. 

i 

“Ah, my Beloved, fill the cup that clears today. 

Of past regrets and future fears. 

Tomorrow, why tomorrow, I may be, 

I, and you, and many others, may be, nay, will be. 
Among those who are reaping consciously. 

The seeds sown in the past, and that we are sowing 
today. 

Live for today ; with it you build your tomorrow." 

— Paraphrased from Omar Khayyam. 


OOME things cause pride; some pleasure. 
^ There is only one thing that causes infinite 
bliss and oblivion of time and this one thing, 


85 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


unless bound by the chain of matrimony is 
called immoral. 

I would drink deep of the nectar of life’s 
feast, so give me all today. 

A few months after the death of this man, 
while taking a Sunday afternoon stroll, cros- 
sing the street a short distance from my home, 
I met my friend’s physician. He stopped and 
we chatted for several minutes. As we talked 
the lonely life he was living suddenly dawned 
upon me, and on the impulse of the moment, 
without a thought of the consequences, I 
asked him to call. He was delighted and 
availed himself of the first opportunity. Before 
the end of the week he had called twice. That 
was the beginning. 

When I began to love him or when I first 
became conscious of it, I cannot say. It seems 
to me now, that it was from the first moment 
I saw him — 

“Then you came, and my soul awoke to the joy of life, 

As life should be. 

Before you came I merely dreamed. 

I know at last the story old, and for this 

All life has not been long. 

Oh, the perfect day when love is known, and you are 
mine. 

And I your very own. 


86 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Old yesterday is with the dead, 

Tomorrow with the yet unborn ; 

Today is all that lives and breathes. 

The sun of yesterday is set, 

Tomorrow’s sun may never rise; 

Today alone is yours and mine. 

Oh fair tomorrow, what our souls have missed ; 

Art thou not keeping for us somewhere?” 

It was not long until the man I loved with 
the greatest love conceivable, unfolded to my 
enraptured soul, the infinitely sweet old story, 
but ever new. How he loved me, and with 
such a love ! It seemed he had realized almost, 
if not from the very first, that it was the one 
great love of a lifetime. 

I did not readily capitulate. I told him the 
sad, pitiful story of my past life. I tried to 
reason with him, telling him he was young, 
with his profession and a bright career before 
him, while I was a woman, not old as counted 
by years, but one who had lived years in expe« 
rience and sad realities. 

Every picture that I drew, as the visions 
of my life presented themselves to me in all 
the horror of the past years as I had lived 
them, seemed to make him only the more de- 
termined. His love apparently grew stronger 
day by day, until I could no longer withstand 

87 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


its great power. The flood gates of my soul 
were opened. 

The moments in life that we never forget are 
those in which we forget ourselves. Was it 
not the only love of my life? The only love 
I had ever felt for anyone? I revelled, I luxu- 
riated in love! Never before had I the 
remotest idea of the meaning of love. Had 
I previous to that time, been a heathen and 
all of God’s wonderful universe with its mar- 
velous beautiful truths suddenly been opened 
to my enraptured soul, the transformation or 
revelation could not have been greater. 

I had never lived before ! For awhile Heaven 
itself seemed opened to me. Everything was 
forgotten. My past life was a blank. I could 
not imagine how I had ever existed the pre- 
ceeding years. Now I lived! This was Life !- 
A grand and glorious life I would not have 
exchanged an infinitesimal part of his love for 
all the gold of the Universe. What cared I 
then for wealth ! Everything else in life paled 
into insignificance beside this great, wonderful, 
soul absorbing love. 

There is but one love in a lifetime. We may 
perchance cherish a word or flower ; we may re- 
spect and esteem for the time being; we may 
blind ourselves with an illusion, but love — that 

88 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


all povv^erful quality of love — comes into our 
lives but once, and from that hour everything 
is changed. I truly think that to a great many 
this love never comes ; they are not capable of 
so loving. It is the best, they are happier. 

We were happy, so very happy for a time. 
We went out together but soon the gossips 
were busy with our names. He had been a 
widower only a few months, while I was a 
divorced woman; also a woman working for 
her daily bread. A splendid target I was for 
the tongues of those who have nothing to do 
but find fault with and judge others. Vile 
gossips, how I loathe them! 

The first wrong concession I made was when 
my love asked me if I would object to his 
coming to see me only, and for awhile we would 
cease going out together. I was very sensitive, 
(as we all are when we love) and I was hurt; 
my pride rebelled. However, I saw how he 
had been hurt by unkind remarks, and in my 
happiness it mattered not to me, as to have 
him with me was all the joy I could desire. 
Oh, the many happy evenings we spent together 
in my cozy little parlor. 

The soul is dead that has not loved. There 
is nothing half so sweet in life. Death is 
not strong enough to shatter a love like this; 

89 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


it will live on through Eternity. There is no 
change. It is impossible. 

“Not a blade of grass but has a story to 
tell, not a heart but has its romance, not a 
life which does not hide a secret, which is 
either its thorn or its spur. Everywhere grief, 
hope, comedy, tragedy. Even under the petri- 
factions of old age as in fossils, we may dis- 
cover the agitations and tortures of youth.” 

Little did I dream of the blow that was to 
fall and well nigh crush my life, as it so surely 
crushed my every hope of future love and 
happiness. 

"There is no compensation for the woman who feels 
that the chief relation of her life has been a mistake 
. . . She has lost her crown.” 

— George Eliot. 


90 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 




CHAPTER ELEVEN 


“That which issues from the heart alone, 

Will lead the hearts of others to your own.” 

— Goethe. 

AFTER all, when souls speak honestly to 
other souls, the response is greater than 
when mere intellect appeals to mere reason.” 

What matters the happiness or misery of 
one woman! If I had possessed happiness it 
would have been taken from me. None can 
keep it. I have at least had some moments of 
perfect joy. They were few and short. Many 
people live through a long life without even 
knowing one moment of complete bliss. 

We speak of Death as the unsolvable mys- 
tery. Is it more so than Life? Yet human 
love and passion at times seem greatest of all 
mysteries. To only a few, I truly believe, is 
given the power to love in its true sense. Woe 
be to the few. It often brings sorrow and des- 
olation in its wake. 

To think of love, it would seem to be the 
all and only satisfying requisite on earth, yet 
how disastrously it terminates in many in- 
stances. It will wreck lives; destroy homes. 


93 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


No cyclone could be more destructive. There 
is no power that can reason with a passion- 
ate love. It burns the heart away, and leaves 
nothing but the ashes to which it is useless 
to apply the torch, as it would be impossible 
to rekindle the blaze. Still, is it possible to 
kill a love such as some unfortunates bestow? 
It lives with us through life and will surely 
live with us in eternity. Why can we not go 
through life indifferently, caring only for mate- 
rial things? Why must the heart be tortured 
until it cries out in bitterness at its fate? 

I question the trite old saying that “ Tis 
better to have loved and lost, than never to 
have loved at all.” “Love is all in all.” 

The poet sings, “Love is the only bow in 
life’s cloud. It is the morning and evening 
star. It shines upon the babe and sheds its 
radiance upon the quiet tomb. It is the mother 
of art; the inspiration of the poet, patriot and 
philosopher. It is the sunlight of every heart ; 
builder of very home; kindler of the fire on 
every hearth. It was the first to dream of 
immortality. It fills the world with melody, 
for music is the voice of love. Love is the 
magician; the enchanter that changes worth- 
less things to joy and makes royal kings and 
queens of common clay. It is the perfume of 


94 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


that wondrous flower, the heart, and without 
that sacred passion, that divine swoon, we are 
less than beasts, but with it, earth is heaven 
and we are Gods.” * 

A few months passed in a quiet, peaceful 
happy dream. Not a day went by that I did 
not see my love. Oh, what love he lavished 
on me! At times I would feel hurt because 
we did not go out together and I was, I sup- 
pose, harshly censored, but what cared I? I 
was living in dreamland, and the future spread 
before me as an enchanted vision. When I 
think of that time now, in a saner mood, I 
know I was not loved as I loved. It is now 
clear to me, I was loved selfishly. 

With the exception of a few days, we spent 
the first summer, until the first of August 
together, when my love left me for a short 
time. He did not stay as long as he intended, 
asserting he could not be separated from me 
another day. 

Shall I ever forget the clasp of his arms 
that first evening after his return! Oh, the 
exquisite thrill, the joy that vibrated my being 
at his touch ! It seemed that all the sweetness 
in the world was concentrated in that one brief. 


* Ingersoll. 


95 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


ecstatic moment, radiating, stimulating and 
perfecting me. 

'^Am I less the woman because my heart is 
human and filled with life and love? God 
placed it there. Does not God give all nature, 
the birds and beasts, the liberty to love as they 
desire?’’ 

'"What right has mortal man to alter God's plan 
By framing laws to govern inward fires ? 

What if the flame licks loose and leaps its claim, 
That it may brighter burn and warmer glow, 

Taking love for fuel? 

Tis a cruel law, God did not bind our natures so. 
The passion that's divine is spun in spirit 
And woven in the woof of our very being; 

It has mastered man ever since the world begun. 

*The life of love is passion's undertow. 

Man's law shall not control the fibres of my soul. 
My life I'll live anew, as nature meant me to, 

And answer for my sins to God alone." 

— Kate Prince. 


96 


CHAPTER TWELVE 



* 


CHAPTER TWELVE 

“Oh, Love, why didst thou come ! 

My soul undone wanders in darkest ways. 

My heart, a stone, mocks its own pain. 

Why didst thou come to me smiling. 

Then turn and leave me all alone? 

As fades the sail from a wrecked soul on sea.” 

— H. Talbot Kummer. 


T N AUGUST I was called East on business 
which detained me there for about four 
weeks. How endlessly long the time seemed. 
My chief thought was to rush through my work 
that I might return to my darling as soon as 
possible. 

Many and beautiful were the letters I re- 
ceived from him during our separation. Let 
the woman who reads wonder that I loved 
him. God pity me, I love him still, although 
he has utterly ruined and wrecked my life, I 
have no power to resist it. 

My Darling: 

If indeed it could be said to be good to live over 
again all of the past, this I seriously doubt. However, 
taking life as a whole, whether the sorrows would be 
less than the joys. If we could be permitted to cull and 


99 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


eliminate the bad and select the pleasure, and live that 
over; still I doubt the efficacy of such a method. We 
appreciate only by contrast and if we had no sorrow 
in life, we would be unable to comprehend and appre- 
ciate happiness in its fullest and deepest sense. It 
was indeed a wise provision of nature to place an antag- 
onist beside every nature. The evil against the good, 
the beautiful against the homely; the bitter against 
the sweet, and discord against harmony. For it is only 
by comparison that we can estimate and prize the 
virtues of the one and detect and condemn the other. 

I think of you constantly, and it is as natural for me 
to want you as it is for the spark to fly upward. I 
have wished a thousand times for your sake that my 
feelings were altered towards you ; and will plead guilty 
of many struggles to overthrow this deep and sacred 
feeling that has taken possession of my being; but so 
far, every effort to free myself from its binding influ- 
ence has served only to intensify my love and cause its 
grasping fingers to sink .deeper and its binding chords 
to draw tighter until a chain has been forged that indis- 
solubly binds me to you. 

If I had the power to reiterate every word of love 
that I have ever uttered, a million times emphasized, 
I could not even then express the feeling that domi- 
nates my heart. 

As the days and weeks go by, I find myself drawn 
closer and closer to her who for so long has been the 
guardian angel of my life. I learn each day that my 
dependence on her grows greater and that the happi- 
ness, contentment, in fact existence, is possible only in 
your love. What more awful, more dismal thing than 
a loveless life. 


100 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


What more awful than an unrequited love? Then 
on the contrary, what happiness from a love which has 
the full assurance that it is fully reciprocated. But 
one thing is wanting and that is possession and asso- 
ciation of the woman God has given me to love, and, 
thank Heaven, the final link shall soon be forged. The 
past shall be buried and the future rise up, a perfect 
life. Then, can you imagine who will be the happiest 
man on God's footstool, with a love that will live on 
through this life into eternity? 

Hurry home to me, my darling, I need you. 

Your Very Own. 


Dear One: 

I am alone in my office writing to you, very much 
alone indeed. Do you know. Dear, that when two 
persons greatly attached to one another are separated, 
the one who remains behind is very much more to be 
pitied than the one who goes ; there is that excitement 
incident to locomotion, change of scene and multi- 
plicity of circumstances that diverts the mind of the 
one, while there is a void made by the going left in 
the heart of the remaining one which nothing can fill. 
I seem to see you as you left me. I never saw you 
look so handsome, so queenly, so lovely. If I had 
known how lonely I would be without you, I think I 
would have allowed my business to have gone to Hali- 
fax and gone with you. There is a solace, a comfort, 
a feeling of security so to speak in proximity to you. 
To feel that you are near at hand should I need you, 
makes me feel safe. When you are gone, I feel as 
if I were cut off from communication with the world. 
When I am in your presence, all weariness and loneli- 


lOI 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


ness vanishes like the dew under the influence of an 
August sun. My darling sweetheart, your loving sym- 
pathy has made for me many happy hours. The sweet, 
sunny gladness of your nature has gladdened a sad and 
lonely life. You have made me very happy. Write to 
me often, darling, as your letters are so sweet and full 
of interest. I am very impatient for your return. 


My Sweetheart: 

I was today the happy recipient of your sweet mes- 
sage of love, teeming with goodness and saturated with 
the silent sympathy of love. A veritable volume, this 
letter was to me. I read it over and over and felt 
each time that I could discern more of the spirit that 
prompted it. Surely, dear, you always seem to have 
some preconception of the mood in which your letter 
will find me, and always know just the thing to say 
that will please me most. Could this mutual sympathy 
exist without deep, pure and holy love? You sur- 
mised correctly when you said I was lonely. We 
never miss the fond association of loved ones until 
they are gone. We had been together so much during 
the week previous to your departure that when you 
were gone, I felt that the very fundamental pillar of 
my contentment, I might say, of my very existence, 
was gone. 

You have grown so completely into my life; have 
become entwined about my being so thoroughly, that 
separation from you is cruel. In your presence, dear, 
I find an all soothing influence. You possess the won- 
derful power of restoring me to a state of equilibrium. 


i 


j 


102 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 

It matters not in how unpleasant state of mind I 
may be. 

I miss you so much; it seems to me as though you 
had been gone a month already, and your stay has 
not fairly begun. Do not let your pleasures swallow 
up all memories and cause you to forget that in this 
town there is one who will anxiously await the com- 
ing pf every mail, and when your letters are received, 
I greedily devour every word. So when you have 
time, remember that a letter will be appreciated. 

Dear, you are such a grand woman. I really believe 
you are Nature's masterpiece of Creation. It seems 
that every attribute of a true and genuine woman is 
perfectly and harmoniously blended in your compo- 
sition and sweetness of soul for which my heart yearns. 
Dear, I fear you have never yet fully and thoroughly 
appreciated the great love I feel for you. 

Do not longer stay away from me. With a heart 
full of love and devotion, I am 

Your Own. 

Why am I sitting here long past midnight 
with sleepless eyes and tireless brain, sketch- 
ing incidents of a dead past? How true these 
lines seem to me as they persist in coming into 
my thoughts : 

‘'Because of the fullness of what I had. 

All that I have seems void and vain. 

If I had not been happy, I were not sad; 

Though my salt is savorless, why complain. 

From the ripe perfection of what was mine, 


103 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


All that is mine seems naught. 

Yet as I sit in the darkness and pine, I know, 

No cup could be drained which had not been fraught.” 

To some “life’s rarest moments are derived 
from change? The heart outgrows old happi- 
ness and old grief and suns itself in feelings 
new and strange. The most enduring pleas- 
ure is but brief. Our needs, our tastes are 
never twice the same, nothing contents us long, 
however dear. The spirit in us like the gros- 
ser frame, outgrows the garments which it 
wore last year.” 

“Change is the watchword of progression. 
When we tire of well-worn ways, we seek for 
new. This restless craving in the souls of men, 
spurs them to climb and seek the mountain 
view. So let him who will erect an altar to 
meek-browed Constancy and sing her praise! 
unto enlivening change, I long to build mine, 
who lends new zest, and interest to my day.” 

Oh, for the power to change. Would to God 
I could. Why must I be constant when others 
are false to themselves, to me and to God. The 
iron is being sunk into my soul by the man 
I love, deeper and deeper each day. God alone 
can help me and he seems so far away from 
me. Yet what more can I expect or hope for? 


104 


THE 


QUEST 


ILLUSIVE 


I know full well that I deserve the punish- 
ment, but how can I change? 

Let those who will, scorn me for such a 
love. It is implanted in my very soul. “Come 
unto me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, 
and I will give you rest.” Save me! I sink 
in the overwhelming flood of contrition and 
the waters overflow my soul. God give us suc- 
cor in trouble, for vain is the help of man. 

“My heart was selfish, and knew not love, 

In a world of doubt and gloom, 

Content to rest with never a guest. 

In its vacant lonely rooms. 

Then out of the vast unknown you came. 

How long my heart had kept a place for you, 

I never knew, ’till into its void you stepped.” 


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CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


“There are some chapters in the book of life, 

Pages whose print demands the morning light. 

That Youth alone can understand aright, 

These I would read. 

While time is with me still. 

Let after happenings be what they will. 

“But those who let the days of youth drift by. 
Scorning to share a lover's ecstacy. 

They shall lament when all their youth is flown. 
Most bitterly, because they have not known. 

“I would rather share thy hell, that I divinely guess, 
“Than any alien heaven unknown to thee. 

Two laws are as fixed as the stars above. 

For every race and clime. 

One, the cruel sweetness of love. 

And one, the shortness of time." 

— Laurence Hope. 


T VANHOE and the Knights of the Round 
^ Table to the contrary, there is no spirit so 
exalted as that of a woman who loves; no 
courage higher, no endurance greater. 

There are rare intervals when we deem life 
worth the living; when we feel it is glorious 


107 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


to exist and breathe. Our souls stirred by the 
imagination long to follow our heart’s desire. 
All that is beautiful in nature awakes within 
us. The future beckons to us and we follow, 
neither dreaming nor knowing where it will 
lead us but ever searching for the unattainable, 
trusting that God will in time aid us in the 
fulfillment of our cherished hopes. 

My life continued to drift for a few short 
weeks along tranquil lines with not the faintest 
doubt of my reward. The reward to me would 
be greater than the sacrifice. What cared I 
for strict convention? The past, the future 
and the peril alike were forgotten, I lived in 
a present which was in itself an eternity of 
love realized. I was adrift on the ocean of 
love with no reefs in sight, the sun of happi- 
ness shed its bright clear rays upon the waters. 

In February business again called me to New 
York. My Love, who was now my betrothed 
husband, would not endure the separation for 
the length of time I would have to be away. 
He went to the city a few days in advance to 
await my coming. 

How vividly the scene comes before me; a 
raw, cold February day; what a long day it 
had seemed, but what happiness in store for 
me at my journey’s end! As the “Lightning 

io8 


THE 


QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Express” pulled into the Grand Central sta- 
tion regardless of the warning of the guards 
forbidding persons to pass the gates, My Dar- 
ling was at the steps waiting for me as I 
alighted. 

What joy to be clasped in his arms for one 
brief second, and to hear the whispering words, 
“My Wife! My Heaven-sent Wife!” What a 
happy meeting! What joy I brought to my 
Love! He had been so restless and unhappy 
during the days he had spent in the city with- 
out me. He could not subdue his impatience 
and all that day had haunted the station, know- 
ing how impossible it would be for me to be 
there one minute earlier. What a paradise I 
entered ! What love he lavished on me ! I re- 
velled in it ! Every word and tone of his voice 
was a caress. How happy I was and he seemed 
equally so. 

“All Heaven for me lay in his smile; his 
kiss; the clasp of his hand. Together we the 
world forgot, time and eternity.” 

Two weeks in a lifetime of wretched disap- 
pointments stand out before me like a beau- 
tiful dream. It is not much to cull from a 
lifetime; but spent with the man I adored and 
who seemed to worship me beyond any power 
of words to express, it was happiness indeed. 


109 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Still his love for me was as a shadow com- 
pared to mine. 

How I wish I could with some small degree 
of accuracy describe the man I loved; Alas! 
whom I shall always love through life and 
eternity. I was wholly and completely his, soul 
and body. My chief thought and happiness 
for him. To have made him happy, I would 
readily have yielded up my life. 

“There is a strength deep bedded in our 
hearts, of which we reck but little; Till the 
shafts of love have pierced its fragile dwelling 
place. Must not the earth be rent before her 
gems are found?” 

Hall Caine tells us when a good woman falls 
from honor, it is not that she is merely a vic- 
time of momentary intoxication, or stress of 
passion, or the fever of instinct, it is mainly 
that she is a slave of the sweetest, tenderest, 
most spiritual and pathetic of all human fal- 
lacies. The fallacy that by giving herself to 
the man she loves she attaches him to herself 
forever. This is the real betrayer of nearly 
all good women who are betrayed. This is 
at the root of ten thousand of the cases that 
make up the merciless story of man’s sin and 
woman’s vveakness. Alas ! It is only the woman 
that clings the closer. The impulse of the man 


no 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


is to draw apart. She must conquer it or she 
is lost. Such is the old, cruel difference, in- 
equality, of man and woman as nature made 
them. The old trick, the old tragedy. 

Oh, how I prayed to God, thanking Him 
with every breath for all His goodness. With 
such a love this earth was heaven for me. 

If I could only have died then, with My 
Darling’s love to have carried me through the 
shadows. Death would have been sweet with 
him. 

How rich I was with my great love; richer 
than Croesus with all his gold. I would not 
have exchanged places with a queen. His love 
was far more to me than wealth or power; it 
was my strength of endurance for all the trials 
of life. Everything else seemed trivial in com- 
parison. 

“For this I hold that when a woman lies 
watching her beauty fire, her lover’s eyes, she 
knows the utmost sense of joy and rest that 
Fate has given to this luckless star men call the 
world; though the dream may pass away as 
sunshine into shade, memories of its light will 
still assuage the weariness that haunts tthe 
after years.” 

Those were really the two happiest weeks 
of my life, yet underlying all my happiness 


III 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


there lurked a shadow; a spectre that seemed 
to haunt me. I cast it aside for one brief space, 
and all the time spent with My Love was hap- 
piness unalloyed. 

The man I loved was to me the soul of 
honor. To his honor and integrity I trusted 
my soul. I trusted him as I did my God. I 
would sooner have doubted one as the other, 
yet, with a woman’s quick intuition I felt at 
times a dread so great that it almost seemed 
to snap my heart asunder. One touch of his 
dear hand and again I felt secure and happy 
until the haunting fear I could not suppress 
returned. 

My dream of happiness was to have a dear, 
loving husband and a home as other women 
had. When I at times voiced the great wish 
of my heart. My Love with his soft sweet and 
tender voice, filled with all the affection seem- 
ingly possible for a man to express would say, 
“Just a little while. My Darling, and all will 
be well.” He would draw for me a picture of 
the home we would have; such a home as 
Claude Melnotte describes to Pauline; “We 
would sit beneath the arching vines and won- 
der why earthly souls could be unhappy, 
while the heavens still left them youth and love. 
We would read no books that were not tales of 


II2 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


love, that we might smile to think how poorly 
the eloquence of words translates the poetry 
of hearts like ours.” We would go away from 
the old surroundings; build us a home; have 
new friends and live our lives as God surely 
intended, for those who love. Alas, for the 
woman who dreams and places her confidence 
in man’s keeping, and trusts in his word of 
honor ! 

I did not know when or how the sword would 
fall, but, I felt intuitively sure it would. How 
hard I tried to keep my happiness. Happiness 
must be firmly held; it so easily slips through 
the fingers. A little irresolution ; a little want 
of moral courage; a little want of self confi- 
dence and irretrievably it is lost. 

After the blow came in such a terrible form, 
how my heart cried out in anguish. What 
tortures I suffered ! I hope no mortal will ever 
suffer as I did. Death would have been far 
less cruel. Oh God, is there not some spot 
where weary souls may find the rest for which 
they seek? In the wine of life, must it always 
be the woman who quaffs the rue? 

“I loved, and blind with passionate love, I fell. 

Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell. 

For God is just and death for sin is well.” 

II3 


■ ' v ' ■■; ' ■ ' ■ '- ' ‘ ' ' '''<■■ "i ': ■" ■' ';.. ' - 'r^ ' i"! • 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


'*Oh, Life, you may shatter and rend and break me, 

In the height and heat of your wildest passion ; 

You have had your uttermost will of me. 

Happiness is so reticent and so shy. 

So transient, so illusive and so young. 

Most men but glimpse her through the morning 
flowers. 

Or the faint mirage of a passing dream. 

She meets her lovers on the summer seas; 

Among the shadows of the quiet hills ; 

Grants them perchance, a moment's ecstacy. 

Then e’er they realize her, she is gone. 

Take thou the jewel friend. 

And let me lose what soul I have 
Among the Lotus flowers." 

— Laurence Hope. 

A t some time in our life the vulnerable 
^ point will be assailed. Alas! the saint 
might have been the sinner had the tempta- 
tion been greater. Who can say? I will not. 

Why is Hell always depicted as a place of 
physical torture ? Are not the most excruciat- 
ing agonies those of a tortured brain? Is not 
its suffering often so terrible that a mere rack- 
ing of the body acts as a welcome respite ? 

Into the lives of most men and woman there 
comes a time when the past casts its shadow 

^15 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


over the future, adding a sorrow we long to 
banish ; a gloom which we canot dispel. How 
wonderful and with what accuracy Ella 
Wheeler Wilcox in her “Erring Woman’s 
Love” describes the anguish that will enter 
a woman’s soul, if for any reason she has sold 
her birthright. 

What cared the woman if she laid bare the 
souls of men or if homes were wrecked ! The 
only discomforts she knew or could understand 
was the sting of the winter wind, or hunger 
unappeased. With warm clothing and rich 
foo^ her physical needs supplied, that was all 
the happiness she desired, until the man came 
— the one man that awoke her soul from its 
lethargy. Then she suffered. If she could 
have bought the priceless gem. Virtue, how 
gladly would she have paid the price, even to 
the extent of physical pain. 

No matter how vile a man may be when a 
woman loves him it is her happiness to open 
her soul to him, pure and without blemish. He 
will doubtless trample it beneath his feet, yet 
the woman’s soul soars to heights of bliss if 
she can give him the purest and best gift 
known to woman. 

After we returned from New York, life ran 
along apparently in the same peaceful grooves. 

ii6 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


At that time my imagination would soar to 
heights sublime; again my soul was steeped in 
all the agonies of the lost. I longed during 
those months to be a good woman ; to be among 
the best. I suffered in mind because I could 
not give to my love a life as pure as I desired. 

While I had hitherto committed no sin ac- 
cording to the laws of our much lauded coun- 
try, mistakes I had made, and many acts of 
indiscretion could be counted against me. 
What recked I then of the words of priest or 
judge? We cannot accept the false once we 
have known the true. 

“They love truth best, 

Who to themselves are true, 

And what they dare to dream of ; 

Dare to do.” 

My life that summer was a dual one. It 
were as if Hope tried to sing a duo with Des- 
pair. I longed to be in every way as My Love 
would have me. The realization that in his 
life, as in the lives of most men, was hidden 
past escapades that would hardly stand the 
test of the bright rays of sunlight, did not in 
my heart lessen the regret caused by memories 
of my own past. 

117 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


What price would I have not paid if I could 
have recalled the years and given to My Dar- 
ling my girlhood’s heart and love undefiled. 

Years ago I saw a picture that left a lasting 
impression on my mind. A black robed figure 
crouched in a corner with a world of sadness, 
despair and pathos in every curve and line of 
her face and figure. Standing nearby, a white 
robed figure; in her right hand an uplifted 
and quenchless torch that represented Memory. 
At her feet, with tireless mein, lay the gray 
unsleeping lion of Remorse; and this poem 
represents the picture as well as life: 

“Unhasting, but delaying not. 

Their even steps keep even pace with life. 

And Time and man’s doomed race, soon passing, 
Passing, soon forgot. 

“Comes rich robed Memory, looking back. 

Which way the vanished days are gone. 

Her quenchless torch in her right hand. 

With backward glancing eyes that strain. 

Across the past’s receding plain, 

The desert of oblivion. 

“But not alone upon life’s track comes Memory. 

Who looks, shall see beside her, ranging sea and land. 
Wherever bends her endless course. 

Pale featured Sorrow, 

And the unsleeping lion of Remorse. 

ii8 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Memory, Sorrow and Remorse are relent- 
less foes which we all must fight. 

As the summer grew apace, My Love could 
not leave his business, and I arranged my af- 
fairs so that I could remain at home, and be 
near him. 

That he was my friend only to the outside 
world grieved me at times, but his sweet as- 
surances, “It will not be for long,” soothed 
me, and I trustingly believed the time would 
soon come when My Love would fulfill every 
promise to me. He will be everything to me ! 
The present will pass as a dream, and the near 
future will recompense me a thousand times 
for all the little inconveniences of the past and 
present. My love was so great, pure and true 
that I thought it ample compensation, and 
while grieved at the delay in the consumma- 
tion of my happiness, I tried to quell my im- 
patience with the consoling thought, “My Dar- 
ling knows best.” So I trusted and waited. 
I would have died ten thousand deaths rather 
than by thought, word or deed have been un- 
true to him, and my faith in him was limitless. 
I trusted him implicitly. I had placed my idol 
on the highest pedestal my mind could conceive, 
little dreaming how soon it would topple over 
and be shattered. 


1 19 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


That he would care for, or go with any 
other woman, was a thought yet undreamed of. 
There came no warning of impending danger. 
However, it soon assumed a tangible form, and 
my mind was forced to accept it as a reality. 
Well it did not kill me, but it surely and swiftly 
annihilated my better self. My very life had 
been laid at his feet, but it availed me naught. 
One life’s board of chance I had had my last 
throw and lost at the cast of a die. 

Well do I remember the first evening My 
Love failed to come to me, sending some trivial 
excuse. Usually in a small town gossip flies 
on the wings of the wind and every happen- 
ing is soon known. I was, however, allowed 
one last day of grace. 

The next evening he came just the same as 
usual, seeming quite happy. During the even- 
ing he told me in a laughing way that he had 
attended the theatre the evening before. I 
was pleased as I wished him to enjoy all the 
pleasures available, which were not numerous 
in a small town. He then told me that his com- 
panion had been a young lady. Oh, My Heart ! 
Every vestige of life or feeling seemed to leave 
me. My heart was rent, I could feel its break. 

My betrothed husband ! Mine by every 
sacred vow that could be made on earth or 


120 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


registered in Heaven. He accompanied an- 
other to the theatre instead of me — the woman 
he loved! 

He laughed and made light of it. Was it 
not premonition that caused me to suffer? 
Where was my will power; my pride? Why 
could I not summon them to my aid? Every 
feeling but that of acute agony seemed to have 
left me. 

He was very gracious, endeavoring to con- 
vince me that it was a trivial matter, and told 
me how casually it had happened. He tried in 
every way to persuade me to forget it, vowing 
by every sacred vow that it should not occur 
again ; but every argument failed. I was utter- 
ly miserable. 

It might have been, doubtless was, jealousy, 
pure and simple. There is no great love with- 
out jealousy. If we love entirely and com- 
pletely, we ask and demand to be loved in re- 
turn in the same way. Was this a warning of 
the terrible ordeal awaiting me, a foreboding 
in my heart that it was not the end? Would 
I not condemn any one who would allow them- 
selves to suffer as I did and do ? 

Fool, that I was, to believe that he would 
ever keep the promises made to me. Why did 

I2I 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I not see and fully realize from the first? The 
selfish way in which he loved me, should have 
been convincing. 

He would come to me and love me so dearly, 
but his reputation was too much at stake to 
take me out. We would go to some other 
place ; a new country ; to make our home. The 
suggestion was pleasing to me. I realized that 
I was a divorced woman, also a woman work- 
ing for my support. I had never been shielded 
from the snares and pitfalls of the world, but 
had been compelled to fight the battle of life 
unaided. 

What does a girl or woman know of life who 
has been reared under the ever watchful care 
of parents or guardians, surrounded by luxury 
and shielded by love; watched over and tendr 
erly cared for as some hothouse flower, too 
tender to withstand the rough breeze? What 
credit do they deserve for being good or virtu- 
ous? Why should they not be so? 

But upon the woman thrown upon her own 
resources, with no one to watch over her or 
shield her from the winds of adversity, the 
maid or matron will look with a shudder if she 
is guilty of even the slightest act of indiscre- 
tion. The virtuous maid or matron might have 


122 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


done the same, perhaps far worse, had she been 
placed in similar conditions. 

“Alas ! Alas ! for human charity, 

It is indeed a rarity.” 

Sorrow with his pick mines the heart, but he 
is a cunning workman. He deepens the chan- 
nels whereby happiness may enter, or leaves it 
desolate, when the light of our love is extin- 
guished. 

My lips have fed upon dust and ashes, my 
soul adrift upon the sea of bitterness, as a lost 
soul standing on the brink of eternity with my 
heaven vanishing from me, receding as I gazed. 
Surely there is a balm for aching hearts some- 
where, but where, oh, God ! where ? 

“I had a dream that you were mine indeed 
And I prayed the dream to stay; 

But this world of ours with reckless haste, 
Rushed on to another day.” 


123 





I 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 


ESTRANGED 

'And this is all ; the end has come at last. 

The bitter end to all our pleasant dreams 
That cast a halo o’er the happy past, 

Like golden sunshine on a summer stream. 


'Tn happy moods, fair castles we upreared. 

And thought that life was one long summer day. 
We had no dream of future pain, nor feared 
That shadows should e’er fall athwart our way. 

"But sunken rocks lie hid in every stream. 

And ships are wrecked when just in sight of land. 
So we to-day wake from our pleasant dream, 

To find our hopes were builded on the sand. 

"Ah well, you choose perhaps the better way, 

A purer love shall in your heart be shrined. 

And I, I shall go down my own, my darkened way. 
Seeking what I ne’er shall find.’’ 

\?^HAT a mockery life appears to me now 
^ ^ and how useless when the mind seems 
void of all reasoning faculties. I meet each 
coming day with a shudder. I try hard to fight 
the battle bravely, only to find myself van- 

125 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


quished at every turn. Am I becoming a pessi- 
mist? How can I be otherwise when I have 
had so much to make me so ? 

I am told almost daily that I am a beautiful 
woman, lovable and with many admirable 
traits. I once derived pleasure from material 
things, handsome clothes and the little extrava- 
gances dear to a woman’s heart, and with 
which she endeavors to enhance her beauty in 
her lover’s eyes, to be able to gratify these 
wants and seeming needs, I had to work and 
work hard for them, yet with one glance of 
admiration I felt amply repaid, but now what 
need have I of them? They have become to 
me a matter of utter indifference. What care 
I for praise from others ! It falls on deaf ears. 
If all my charms fail to win praise or adulation 
from the man I love, what matters all else. 

My love was destined to be trampled upon 
with a grave deliberation that was appalling. 
I was no longer necessary to promote happi- 
ness ; cast off like an old garment that had be- 
come useless. Oh God, Thou gavest to me life, 
grand and glorious, a fair face and personal 
charm that has been the envy of many; I beg 
of Thee to grant me mercy! 

When the soul awakens to a rich full life, and 
we know the joy of living in its best term; 

126 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


when we think the shadow has lifted, only to 
see it settle again with the darkness more dense 
than ever before ; when the heart is dead to all 
but pain, we feel that we have run the gamut. 
The heartstrings are jarred until all melody is 
destroyed and nothing remains but discord. It 
is then we wonder that we ever cared for, or 
were even interested in, worldly things. 

I have had my dream. A dream of short 
duration; the awakening, sudden and terrify- 
ing, as if from a nightmare. If self-abasement 
is sufficient atonement, I might, like a self- 
confessed sinner, hope for absolution. 

How can I continue to love a man when I 
feel and almost know he is utterly false to me? 
I cannot understand it. How true these lines 
by Tennyson: 

"A lie which is all a lie may be met and fought out, 
right; 

But a lie which is part the truth, is a harder matter 
to fight.” 

Intuitively I feel that my love is living a 
double life. There is nothing that will kill en- 
ergy and mental vitality so quickly and abso- 
lutely as suspense. Oh, to know the truth 
always, no matter how hideous the details. 
When with me, he swears to a love and fidelity 


127 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


that never will die, and I cannot doubt him. 
One smile from him dispels every shadow. 
One caress from him and all the world with 
its petty deceits are forgotten. With the love- 
light in his eyes, he vows that no other woman 
could be the least thing to him ; that one touch 
from another would fill his soul with disgust. 

Then he would beg of me to swear to him 
this oath, which will echo and re-echo in my 
brain and heart forever : “I swear to you that 
I will be as true to you as you are to me.” 
Then he would say: “Oh my wife, my heaven 
sent wife, my wife that is to be, swear this to 
me ! You are the one love of my life, wife of 
my soul.” 

Every day would bring to me information of 
occurrences that were almost convincing evi- 
dence that he was not so true to me as he had 
been, and as his visits grew less frequent, I be- 
came mistrustful. 

When away from him, my heart tells me that 
he has changed ; that he is not the same. When 
I am with him, I am weak, as all women are 
when they love. I try to believe that I do not 
doubt him. I am like a shipwrecked sailor 
clinging desperately to a frail craft, a man’s 
honor, bufifetted about by the cruel waves of 
doubt until I am engulfed in life’s great ocean. 

128 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


My darling, though you shatter my trust and 
sin in every way possible against love, I cannot 
retaliate; cannot upbraid or even reprove. I 
love you still, though you rend my heart and 
crush my faith, fool that I am, my great love is 
defenseless. To respond to the thrill of your 
life-renewing kiss; to feel your warm flesh 
touching mine; to feel that I am the one ele- 
ment essential to you, as you are to me, is unal- 
loyed joy. 

I pray that fate in the future may deal more 
gently with you, my beloved, than you are deal- 
ing with me. My heart stands still ; my throat 
contracts; my lips are dry and my eyes burn 
and are heavy lidded. No tears arise to as- 
suage their fever. The rock upon which my 
happiness was founded is submerged. The 
sweetness of the love which reconciled me to 
the many trials of life has been withdrawn. 
The prospect before me seems utterly hope- 
less. 

It is indeed a trying moment when we face 
the inevitable and realize that we must retrace 
our steps, one by one to find the mistake. 

“How easily things go wrong. 

A word too much ; a look too long ; 

Then falleth a mist, a blinding rain, 

And life is never the same again.” 


129 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


We cannot tell what love will make of us; 
whither it may lead us. Sometimes it scorches 
the heart, leaving a scar that cannot be effaced. 
It never leaves us as it found us. 

Tonight, one of the girls working for me, 
was married. I went to her home, to please the 
child; only a child of seventeen married to a 
mere boy. I sincerely hope they may always 
be as happy as they are now; that they may, 
side by side, travel a tranquil, peaceful road, 
avoiding the trials and passions that tear the 
human heart. 

I felt sadly out of place in the midst of the 
merry throng, mingling with them, yet not one 
of them. I was alone, with my heart beating 
time to a funeral march behind a smiling face. 
They regarded me with deference, love and 
respect. The dear little girl brought her sweet- 
heart to me first of all. I was chosen from all 
the company to select the flower from her 
bridal bouquet, for her lover’s buttoniere. Yet, 
try ever so hard, I could feel no interest and it 
was with great difficulty that I was able to pre- 
tend to any. 

The bride’s mother was a poor little widow 
with several children, and this one, her baby 
girl, was leaving her. On her sad face time 
and poverty had left their indelible mark. Her 


130 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


life had been a hard one for many years. Her 
child will never seem quite the same to her 
again, as another has come into the daughter’s 
life who will demand her care and attention. 

We are told that every trial in life is for our 
good; that we never know our strength until 
we have to face troubles. Surely this cannot be 
true, as I feel that this great sorrow which has 
entered my life is changing me from an affec- 
tionate, loving woman into a veritable fiend. 
Then how can it be for my good? 

While my life has been a hard one some few 
perhaps might call it a checkered career, 
through it all, have I not kept my soul intact? 
My heart and conscience clear from the little- 
ness that seem so much a part and interest of 
the majority of people? I have harbored only 
good thoughts, and have never wilfully 
wronged a fellow being. Many indiscreet acts 
can perhaps be laid at my door, but no harm to 
any living creature. 

This great trouble was forced upon me at a 
time when I had no power to cope with it. All 
the fury of the fiends seem to be loosed upon 
me. Dante in the depths of his Inferno could 
not depict with more intensity, the horrors of 
my soul or its capacity for suffering a mental 
agony beside which physical pain is nothing. 

131 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I have prayed for physical pain sufficiently 
great to deprive me of the power to think. 

What a dreadful thing to have doubt and 
uncertainty take such possession of one’s soul 
that it seems completely enshrouded in stygian 
darkness, and to realize that the “tender grace 
of a day that is dead can never come back 
again.” 

Two years ago I would have been one of the 
first to scoff at and condemn such a story as 
this. I would have felt only scorn for such a 
woman. Whoever reads this book cannot con- 
demn me more severely than I do myself. 

For a young girl who loves a man to such 
desperate ends, there is every excuse to offer, 
but for me there is no justification. I was 
mature; I can plead neither youth nor ignor- 
ance. It is the ripe fruit that falls, more’s the 
pity. 

Does the realization of the full extent of our 
weakness bring us any solace or make us 
stronger? I think not, when there is an irre- 
sistible force that we cannot comprehend. 

“I am lonely, years are so long, 

I want you only, you and your love, 

Dark is life’s shore, night is so deep. 

Only your voice love, let me hear. 

Of all the world, I love you best.” 

133 


CHAPTER SIXTEEN 



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CHAPTER SIXTEEN 


*This world is but the rugged road 
Which leads us to the bright abode 
Of peace above. 

**Our cradle is the starting place; 

In life we run the onward race, 

And reach the goal, 

Where, in the mansions of the blest. 

Death leaves to its eternal rest. 

The weary soul. 

'‘Let no one fondly dream again, 

That hope and all her shadowy train, 

Will not decay. 

Fleeting as were the dreams of old. 
Remembered like a tale that’s told. 

They pass away.” 

IV/T IDNIGHT ! How long and weary are the 
^ ^ nights, when memory wakes and sleep 
has fled; when the heart and brain are weary, 
yet keenly alive and conscious of every moment 
as it slips into the past. When phantoms from 
the past the chamber fill; and silent tones my 
pulses thrill; while sharp as doom or faint in 
distant towers, knell answering knell, the 
chimes repeat the hour. 

135 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Tonight a storm is raging; not in my heart 
alone. The elements seem to be at war with 
the whole world. They voice their displeasure 
in lightning flashes and thunderous roars. The 
wind shrieks aloud, and the heavens are moved 
to copious tears ; a conglomerate intermingling. 
Great sheets of water are dashed against my 
windows. 

I love a storm. It never rages too fiercely 
for me. I love the howling wind; the inces- 
sant and reverberating roar of the thunder and 
the vivid flashes of the lightning. It is grand 
and glorious. It seems to bring me nearer to 
a realization of God. There is something in 
the strong electrical current of a storm which 
seems to have an affinity for my nature. I live 
in it and can feel its every phase. 

How intensely I long tonight for the brain’s 
developed ability to command a flow of lan- 
guage with which I might embody my thoughts 
in words. 

We think what a fine thing it would be if we 
could obliterate the past and live only in the 
future. Unfortunately, such was not God’s 
intention. Perhaps it was His desire to let the 
past live with us, lest we might forget Him in 
our dreams of earthly bliss. It is to our Heav- 
enly Father only that we should yield our souls 

136 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


entirely. He is our refuge and comfort; our 
only support in the hour of trouble. 

I feel that I must go away from my love, out 
of his life. Day after day I make the same 
resolution, only to break it e’er the day is 
ended. If I should go out of his life, doubtless 
I would be forgotten. My place be filled, and I, 
only a memory. 

Would that I had the power to summon the 
old feeling of indifference to my aid. If he has 
ceased to love me, why is it that I cannot ignore 
him ? Why must I go on loving him better, oh 
many times better than my life? 

A grief that we cannot define is the hardest 
of all to endure. I have used every argument 
against myself, to find every one useless. Just 
when I think that courage and endurance hold 
the winning hand some little incident or idle 
remark will sink my heart and mind into the 
slough of despair. 

If this be retribution, surely “The mills of 
the Gods grind slowly and exceedingly small.” 
Will happiness or peace of mind ever be mine 
again ? I ask as thousand of others have asked, 
is there no Aidenn, no oasis in this great world, 
where a sick and weary soul may find relief 
from constant pain; no balm to soothe the 


137 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


aching heart ? Must I go on and on for seem- 
ingly an endless number of years without rest ? 

Surely the man I love must be unhappy. God 
would never permit that I should be quite alone 
in my suffering. My love cannot be happy 
knowing the misery he has created. The de- 
sire to atone, and the longing to expiate his sin 
must torment him. He cannot be as devoid of 
honor or conscience as his conduct would indi- 
cate. I thought he possessed the highest prin- 
ciples. I believed him capable of laying down 
his life far more readily than defaming his 
honor. Alas, for my confidence ! 

My love for him still soars to such heights 
that at times I hope he will always be happy 
and that no thought of my suffering will ever 
cross his mind to mar his pleasure. Then 
again, the cry ascends. No! A thousand times 
no I Let him be an equal sufferer with me. His 
is the greater sin. Why should he be happy 
while my heart is breaking? 

When my love is surrounded with other com- 
pany, I doubtless am forgotten. I am on the 
outside of his life, a thing apart, to be remem- 
bered only as a silly, foolish woman, and, as the 
world might say, more to be condemned than 
pitied. He will live his life, happy and prosper- 
ous, while I shall go on my own darkened way. 

138 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


God seems to have made every plan for man, 
while woman must suffer and endure. 

“When God formed worlds, he failed to make a path 
For erring feet to take back into light and peace again, 
Unless they were the feet of men. 

"Will some one show me how. 

Why men had trod the burning track 
Of sin for years and then gone back. 

And cannot woman for sin atone. 

Or did Christ die for men alone? 

"But woman, far more complicate 
Can take no chances with her fate. 

A subtle creature, finely spun. 

Her body and her soul are one.” 

Many a soul that has fought with sin and 
gained each battle, at last gives into sudden 
desire. Each soul is its own redeemer. There 
is no law but love. In mercy I pray for 
strength and power to endure. 

I went away last week for a little trip. I 
tried to feel interested in other things, but 
failed. I think I succeeded in being pleasant 
to my friends who were with me, but the heart- 
ache never ceased. It was with me at the gay- 
est scene. No matter what the distraction, my 
heart would, in thought, be wandering with its 


139 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


lost love. If I could only look the realities 
firmly in the face; accept the facts as they ex- 
ist and make the most and the best of them; 
but when life stretches out before me like an 
endless night, how can I gather up the tangled 
threads ? The skeins of life are so snarled that 
the task of straightening them out seems end- 
less and almost impossible. 

My life thus far has been one great mistake, 
but surely I can control what is left of it and 
make it more acceptable to God in the future 
if I trust in Him. I am so thoroughly selfish. 
I must try to cultivate forgetfulness of self and 
think more of others. I am forgetting my 
darling baby girl who was my entire thought 
until this great love entered my life. Every- 
thing else has been forgotten. I am paying a 
just penalty. 

My poor sister worries about me. I can 
neither rest or sleep. It is only when my body 
is exhausted by physical exertion that the al- 
ready tired brain svtccumbs temporarily to a 
restless unconsciousness. How I long for nat- 
ural, restful sleep. 

“Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care, 

The death of each day’s life, sore labor’s bath. 
Balm of hurt minds ; great nature’s second course ; 
Chief nourisher in life’s feast.’’ 


T40 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I cannot force myself to assume a degree of 
tranquility, yet I should, for my sister’s sake. 
I do not want to make her unhappy. My suf- 
fering would be incomprehensible to her ; it is 
all within my own heart. I live within myself 
and try to hide the heartache behind a cheerful 
face. I wear the mask all day, but when alone 
in my room, it is dropped. 

It is so through life, for those who hope. 
How . foolish to allow myself to dream of a 
home and happiness ; of a dear, loving husband; 
in fact, all the things that make up a woman’s 
life. It was absurd! A farce! A woman 
twice married, twice divorced, yet who had 
never had a husband as God ordained that hus- 
band and wife should be. 

I often think of Thackeray’s poem, “The 
End of the Play.” The little sketches through 
out are so true to life : 

“He shows as he removes the mask, 

A face that’s anything but gay. 

On life’s wide scene you too have parts, 

That Fate ere long shall bid you play. 

“So each shall mourn in life’s advance, 

Dear hopes untimely killed. 

Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance. 

And longing passion unfulfilled.’’ 

141 


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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 


“For my heart was hot and restless, 

And my life was full of care, 

And the burden laid upon me. 

Seemed greater than I could bear.” 

— Longfellow. 

T^AY after day I try to be brave. I try to 
uproot the deep love in my heart. In the 
solitude of my soul I had conceived this great 
love ; a passion such as few men or women are 
capable of attaining, be it for weal or woe. I 
try to think of my friends, some of them I know 
have pitied my mute anguish and have tendered 
to me their silent and sincere sympathy. I am 
ungrateful and unappreciative. What care I 
for the sympathy or friendship of the whole 
world, when the hungering cry of my heart is 
for the love I crave and without which I feel 
that my soul will starve. 

At times I feel possessed of a thousand un- 
controllable demons, who must vent their fury 
in fiendish shrieks. Every good and noble im- 
pulse of my nature choked and withered in the 
scorching heat of frenzy that now envelops my 
very soul. I try to harden my heart and my 


143 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


hope is that my efforts will succeed. I pray for 
the power to annihilate every tender and senti- 
mental inspiration that was ever given birth in 
my nature ; to be a stoic ; a pessimist. 

Had my love remained true to me, his love 
and loyalty could have kept my nature soft, 
tender and kind. Heaven and earth would 
have been one to me. He saw and knew the 
mellifluous influence of his love upon me. 

As the full extent of his perfidy reveals itself 
I feel an instinctive desire or impulse to demon- 
strate to him the possibility of converting the 
good into the evil, and let the result lay like the 
curse of an avenging angel on his soul. “An 
eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” Let those 
who will say that this is not love. Wounded 
love, like an animal will attempt to defend it- 
self ; defeated it drags itself into solitude to die 
alone. 

If my Love had been truthful and honorable 
with me, I believe I could have summoned cour- 
age enough to have been magnanimous in a 
desire to promote his happiness. 

When I try to condemn the man who has so 
wrecked my life scene after scene will rise be- 
fore me, and again I hear his voice, low and 
sweet, with vows and protestations of love upon 


144 


THE 


QUEST 


ILLUSIVE 


his lips that would lull to rest the gravest 
doubts, and my heart softens. Then the re- 
membrance of some little slight or neglect 
brings every pain back to me intensified, and 
my heart is adamant. 

God’s curse must fall upon my lover ; sooner 
or later he will have to render an account. He 
will be as answerable to God for my soul as for 
his own. When we are arraigned before God’s 
bar of justice, we are judged with equity, and 
who will be condemned think you ; the woman 
who loved and sinned, yet who kept her heart 
and mind pure, or the man who accepted the 
wonderful gift of sacrifice, and wantonly 
trampled upon it; thrusting it aside for a sor- 
did, mercenary consideration? Surely con- 
demn not the woman who has to face the' 
obliquy of the world while the man goes his 
way untrammelled and unquestioned. God is 
a just God. He would never permit the con- 
demnation imposed on woman here, were she 
not to be recompensed hereafter. Her punish- 
ment seems more than she deserves. 

“No mercy now can clear her brow, 

For this world’s peace to pray; 

But sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven, 

By man is cursed alway. 

145 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


“When lovely woman stoops to folly, 

And finds too late that men betray, 

What charm can soothe her melancholy. 

What art can wash her guilt away ?” 

Away with such thoughts! They crowd 
upon my brain ; intrude upon my soul. Wherein 
is my sin ? Is it sinful to love ? If so, why did 
the Great Creator mold our hearts and natures 
susceptible and responsive to so-called sin? 

“If love is a crime, a sinful passion. 

Why then should God, so good and wise. 

Have moulded our hearts in such wondrous fashion, 

That nothing but love ever satisfies ?’’ 

Fate, that arbiter of our destines, has pro- 
nounced the sentence of death upon my love. 
Direst hate has aimed a deadly blow to all the 
joys of my life; to the pleasant past with its 
tender memories. Its dream, its hope, which 
is deemed a crime, is banished from me as the 
sunset’s splendor is banished by darkness at 
evening time. 

“My heart rebels with fiercest passion? It 
will not submit to the stern decree. Love can- 
not be slain in murderous fashion. Like a 
giant, it struggles for mastery. Though buried 
deep in deadly malice, crushing out, as we 

146 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


think, its latest breath, yet with renewed 
strength, as from a blood-filled chalice, it will 
rise to prove that love knows no death.” 

A few weeks slipped by into months, only 
two or three. As time passes, no matter how 
endlessly long the days and nights, may seem, 
at last the finale is written. 

I am like one who has traversed a desert un- 
der the sea, a vast submerged Sahara. Over 
my head, all my love and happiness, and the 
things around are only the ghostly shadows 
cast by them. 

No lingering doubt now. The man I love is 
to be married within a few short weeks. How 
he lied to me until I absolutely knew the facts. 
He lied to me until I became desperate, and in 
the agony of tortured doubt, and suspense no 
longer endurable, I went to the home of “the 
other woman” where I obtained from her sis- 
ter authentic corroboration of the rumors of 
gossip. The girl he was to marry was at that 
moment in a nearby city selecting and super- 
vising the construction of her trousseau. 

Reeling under the death dealing blow I left 
the house and have no recollection of how I 
reached my own home. I could not force my- 
self to believe that the man whom I loved so 


147 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


devotedly would sink so low; could so far de- 
part from his vaunted standard of honor. 

Now that every doubt was dispelled and his 
perfidy was revealed to me in all its nakedness, 
and truth in its stern reality faced me, I sent 
for my lover, mine as sacredly as any marriage 
ceremony could have made us. I told him 
where I had been, and that I knew the truth. 
When he realized that denial was useless, he 
pleaded for leniency, saying he had longed to 
tell me, but that courage had failed him. 

The past weeks, when I had asked him if the 
rumors I heard were true, he would tell me 
“No,” and swear that he could love or marry 
no one but me. Now he tells me he is marrying 
for money; that his affairs are in such condi- 
tion that he must have financial aid ; that he is 
forced, and cannot do otherwise. 

The man who professed to love me so fondly, 
and whose sincerity I could not doubt, still 
swears that he loves me above everything 
earthly or heavenly; that he is the most 
wretchedly unhappy and miserable man that 
lives, and I do not doubt his statement. The 
ordeals of the past few weeks have driven me 
to the verge of madness. He has no assurance 
what course I may pursue. 

148 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Do I wish him happiness? I hardly know. 
Varied and conflicting emotions are flghting 
for supremacy within me. Can he be happy? 
Will not the visions of a woman’s bleeding 
heart rise before him on every occasion? If 
he has a conscience, he will be stung by remorse 
at every turn. He will never know another 
happy day. In every scene of pleasure, in his 
happiest moments, will there not be a spectre 
by his side that cannot be banished but will fol- 
low him with relentless footsteps to the end of 
his life; ever present in his waking hours, a 
hideous nightmare in his sleep? His life will 
be a burdensome one, a haunted one, with the 
ghost of his forsaken love ever in his wake. 

We cannot relentlessly make any one suffer 
and not feel the consequences ourselves. There 
are those who have gone through life bearing 
such strange and hidden scars; such thorn- 
laden crosses ; such worn and suffering hearts, 
that it is a mystery and temptation of doubt 
to know why Heaven permits such lingering 
torture. 

There are worse martyrdoms than the vis- 
ible cross or the wild beast of Ephesus; than 
the faggot and stake of old. There is that 
which destroys, yet will not kill ; which saps life 
of all joy, comfort, of peace even, and when the 


149 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


veil is withdrawn from all human eyes and 
hearts those will be acknowledged as the true 
martyrs who have borne the burdens and heat 
of the day. 

The wind is tempered to the shorn lamb, 
and even to those gusts and storms of human 
passions, there shall come a “Peace be still.” 
Will peace ever come into my life! Will the 
time ever come when I can say from my heart, 
“Thy will be done, oh God.” 

Could I but remember, — 

“That out of the hurt may be born a smile, 

Out of my tears may a rainbow shine. 

Somewhere God’s hand reacheth down for mine, 
Giving me what is best.” 


150 



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 



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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 


WORTH WHILE 

“I asked of my desolate shipwrecked soul; 

Would’st thou rather never have met 
The one whom thou lovest beyond control, 

And whom thou adorest yet? 

“Back from the senses, the heart, the brain. 

Comes the answer swiftly thrown; 

What matters the price, we would pay it again; 
We have had, we have loved, we have known.” 

— Laurence Hope. 

^^HERE are loves that come in sunshine and 
-*■ which easily take flight when adversities 
enter. That is not love. Love once implanted 
in the human heart is imperishable. Only God 
can understand such a love. He gave His only 
begotten Son that we might live. That is love. 
Only those who can feel a love equal to that, 
possess the natures to know or comprehend the 
great loves with which some of us are en- 
dowed. No other can form the least conception 
of such a love. 

I have loved and lost. I must go through 
life with this dead weight on my heart. When 
I again mingle with my fellow beings, as I 


153 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


shall have to do, I know that my countenance 
will be as an open page, that he who runs may 
read. I have prayed for death to take me in 
its relentless grasp, forgetful of every obliga- 
tion. But I must live. It is the inexorable will 
of God. 

I am allowing a great wrong to be com- 
mitted, yet I raised neither voice nor hand to 
prevent this marriage. I am a coward. Were 
I to do so I know full well the condemnation I 
would be compelled to suffer, as the world 
would place its own construction on the course 
I would have to pursue. It would recoil on my 
own head. 

I know what is right and what I ought to do, 
yet I hesitate. “He who hesitates is lost.” 
Soon it will be too late. The curtain will rise 
ere long and the scene — what will it be? A 
farce comedy or a life’s tragedy? We are all 
forced to play character parts. Some are for- 
tunately cast for comedy, others less fortunate, 
for tragedy. Time alone can tell what the end 
of the play will be. 

Mephisto himself could not have devised a 
more fiendish or cowardly deed than the wrong 
which the man I love is so determined to enact, 
telling me that stern necessity is his dictator; 
that he cannot act differently. Also he tells me 

154 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


he is afraid of me, and well he may be, as I do 
not know myself. He can as readily trust me 
as I can myself. I cannot with any degree of 
certainty assert what act of folly I will or will 
not commit tomorrow. His assertion that he 
knows full well that he is completely in my 
power, is absolutely true, yet my hand is 
stayed. He stoops to implore clemency from 
the woman he has so cruelly wronged. Why 
should I be lenient? How can he expect it? 
So far he has been spared and protected. 

He begs of me to be reasonable. If I were 
basking in the smiles and caresses of another, 
think you I could reason with him? Why 
should I not crush him? What mercy should 
he expect from me ? He seems not to have one 
good or noble impulse left within him. Did he 
not deceive me until the very last, until I be- 
came desperate and determined to know the 
truth at all hazards? Has he saved me one 
pang? Yet he seems very unhappy, probably 
assumed for effect as he is afraid of what I 
might do. He plays upon my smypathy and 
well he may. Credulous fool that I was, to 
believe that a man’s love could last without a 
change, true and loyal through life to eternity. 

One of the hard things I have endured, and 
in a way seemingly the hardest, was his request 

155 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


for the return of his letters or their destruction. 
It would seem he is trying to put me so abso- 
lutely out of his life that he wants every evi- 
dence destroyed. No ! I will save my beautiful 
letters; would they not be a rare gift to his 
bride ! Let her reach the zenith of her happi- 
ness that her fall may be the greater. I can 
make her so wretchedly unhappy that she may 
know but a part of what I have suffered. 

Such thoughts are sinful and unworthy. I 
will banish them. Let him reap what happiness 
he can with his seared and withered conscience, 
after trampling on a wonman’s heart and rend- 
ing a soul as he has mine. As we watch the 
innumerable caravans pass day after day with 
their load of care and disappointments, we real- 
ize the line is unending. Each day will bring 
its full measure of burdens. What cares the 
busy world ? 

Some will say, why worry? Take life as we 
find it. If disappointments and heartaches 
await us, make the best of it. That is easy 
enough to say when life floats tranquilly on 
down the River of Time, but when the shadows 
rise, how is it then? 

In our sane moments we think that people 
who commit suicide are insane; I can never 
think that again. I can understand how much 

156 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


sweeter it would be to enter the dreamless un- 
awakening sleep; “The bridge which crosses 
the River of time, one end resting on mists, and 
the other on eternal shadows,” than to linger 
on with fitful slumbers harrowed by horrible 
dreams, from which we awaken to the realiza- 
tion that another day must be lived as was the 
preceding one, and so on, to an indefinite end. 

My Love swears to me that his affection is as 
great as ever ; that he will always love me bet- 
ter, far better than his life; that nothing but 
death shall part us. To another he is doubtless 
making the same vows, and she, simple fool, 
believes that he loves her. Alas, for our credu- 
lous fancy! He can, and probably will, make 
her think that he loves her, as he would seem 
an adept in the art. He is squandering the 
love and breaking the heart of the woman who 
loved him better than her hope of heaven. 

My Love now offers me his friendship ! How 
can he expect me to accept such an offer? 
What woman living would not scorn it ? What 
care I for his friendship when every fibre of 
my being cries out for the love that was mine ? 

He assures me that I could never ask a favor 
that is in his power to grant, that would not be 
granted instantly. Perhaps that is balm to his 
conscience. He knows full well that I would 


157 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 

never ask a favor of him, rather would I beg 
or starve in the streets. 

Think you there is any comparison between 
his love for me, and my love for him? Would 
I not have sacrificed everything in the world 
for him? Would I have given up his love for 
any consideration? No! I would have gone 
to the end of the world with him, no matter 
what the circumstances or conditions; though 
he were shorn of fame and honor. I would 
have been content and happy in the humblest 
spot with him, feeling that his devotion com- 
pensated for every trial. I felt there was no 
door which my love for him could not open ; no 
night so dark that I could not see the lovelight 
in his eyes ; no distance so great that I could not 
hear his voice. 

What a mistake! Love was in the balance. 
Love on one side, gold and ambition on the 
other. How quickly love vanished at the glit- 
ter of gold. Love was not weighed at all. It 
was merely a feather to be blown about by the 
turbulent wind of ambition; a woman’s heart 
was not considered. Was that love? 

He pleads with me not to go away, but to 
stay where he can watch over me as his heart 
desires; to be a friend to me should I need 
one. Can you imagine how extremely happy it 

158 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


will make me, day after day, to see another his 
wife? Another occupying the place that 
should, by all earthly and heavenly right, be 
mine, and would be, but for the sordid love of 
gold, and the admiration of the world. Has 
he ever I wonder, stopped to consider what a 
happy life it would be for me? 

Why should I have to go away, after I have 
fought the battle of life and attained a degree 
of independence? Am I the one that should 
leave my home and position; go out into the 
world and fight again the battle of life among 
strangers, with poverty as my foe? Is it not 
rather, his place to go? Yet I know how it 
will end. I will go and face poverty and toil, 
again I shall have the ladder of success to 
climb frpm the bottom round, while he, my 
love, remains happy and prosperous, sur- 
rounded by luxury and friends, with love and a 
beautiful home. I shall be a wanderer; noth- 
ing to him or to the world. 

"I bought my laughter with coin of grief. 

I paid for happiness as kings might do. 

Yet, though beggared, I go beyond relief. 

O heart, the glad, mad spendthrift hours we knew !” 


159 






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< x.-f 







CHAPTER NINETEEN 


‘This want of you is like no other thing. 

It smites my soul with sudden, sickening dread. 
It binds my being with a wreath of rue, 

This want of you. 

“It greets me with the morning sun. 

It creeps upon me when the day is done. 

It hammers at my heart the whole day through. 
This want of you. 

“It flashes upon me with the awakening skies. 

Oh, all the day within my heart it cries. 

Old is your absence, yet each moment new. 

This want of you. 

“Mad with demand and aching with despair, 

I look into my heart, and you are where? 

God has forgotten, or He never knew. 

This want of you."' 


A MAN can beat down the stone walls of a 
fort; scale the heights of a citadel; master 
the earth and the seas, but he cannot surmount 
the invisible barrier which he himself erected 
in past ages. The heart, when it is swept into 
the grasp of a great love, is ruthlessly torn 


i6i 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


from the hundreds of minute ties and interests, 
that heretofore held it to life. 

I longed to turn back, but the gate to my 
castle keep was closed. I had sold my birth- 
right. A deep love gashes into the soul as a 
scar is hewn upon the human body, and re- 
mains there during our entire life. 

How many, many times I have wished I had 
never been allowed to leave my rural home. 
How contented and happy the majority of 
country people seem, and are. They are inter- 
ested in practical things, and do not care to 
delve into the depths and passions of life. 
They live in the present, seemingly giving small 
heed to the passing of time. We frequently 
hear the remark, “How time flies.” How 
happy are they who can view it in that light. 
To others time drags wearily and monotonous- 
ly. We all realize, however, the fact that we 
cannot live always. Death is inevitable. What 
a glorious assurance that is to thousands, and 
how thankful they must be for it. 

It is when we get out into the world and 
mingle with the masses that we discover it is 
full of sad hearts and disappointed lives. It is 
then that we are in sympathy with the “Wand- 
ering Jew.” If we had but to shake off the 
shackles of age and feel new life and vigor, 

162 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


coursing through our bodies ; to know that we 
had the same struggles before us for an indefi- 
nite period of years, who of us would not court 
death with as much assiduity as did the “Wan- 
dering Jew?” None, or but few of us, would 
care to throw off the shackles of life to renew 
again the struggles. 

“Vanquished, borne down in the conflict, 
With Hope lying prone at my feet; 

Beaten, bruised, derided. 

Shall I yield to defeat?” 

With health and strength, why should I 
dread the future ? Must I give up because of 
one great disappointment? Would that I had 
the courage to build the structure of my future 
upon resolve instead of past regrets. To cease 
to grope among the shadows of past deeds, but 
to let my own soul’s light shine on the path of 
hope and dissipate the darkness; to waste no 
tears upon the blotted record of past years, but 
turn the leaf and smile, to see the fair white 
pages that may still remain for me. I seem 
to love to live in the past, as a Beduin loves to 
dwell in the desert. 

At times, what fiends of despair I have to 
fight in my own soul. They seem to be arrayed 
against my Guardian Angel, fighting for the 

163 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


possession of my very soul, while I stand idly 
by as a spectator, wondering which will be the 
victor, which the vanquished in the conflict, yet 
I dare not linger to see the ending, ’till bewild- 
ered and weary I turn away and blindly follow 
a path that I pray will lead me to forgetfulness. 

If I could fling myself into a vortex of mad 
excitement! Anything to quell the tempest 
surging within me ! I try to find distraction in 
my work, often toiling far into the night; 
physical exhaustion is the only result. The fer- 
tile brain is inexhaustible and races on, while 
the fingers move mechanically and finally stop 
from weariness. 

I can understand and appreciate how and 
why some people become drunkards or victims 
of opiates in their desire to relieve mental 
strain; to temporarily destroy, or lull to rest, 
the power of thought, or to throttle their con- 
sciences. When all other resources fail, as a 
last resort, they seek a sedative which renders 
them mentally powerless, and oftimes physi- 
cally so. 

How miserably and selfishly I am wrapped 
up in myself ! Have I not my baby to live for, 
to work for? God gave her to me, a perfect 
child. I was happy in her love for a while. I 
loved her to the exclusion of all else. If she 

164 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


were ill I knew neither sleep nor rest. I 
watched over her with a tender solicitude, im- 
bibing from her childish innocence, sweet com- 
fort and encouragement, until a stronger influ- 
ence entered my life, which almost obliterated 
the image of my baby. 

As my senses awaken to consciousness and 
the realization of the enormity of the sin I 
have committed against my better self and 
against my baby, I am obsessed with the hor- 
rible idea that I must give her up ; that I must 
take her to her father, and tell him that I have 
betrayed my trust ; that I am no longer worthy 
of it. 

I can picture the horror overspreading his 
countenance as he listens with unwilling ears 
to my tale of wrong. He believed me to be the 
essence of pure womanhood, holy motherhood, 
and the soul of honor ; that my baby would be 
my safeguard against any temptation. The 
thought at times haunts me, and I feel that I 
must give her back to him. Yet, every moth- 
erly instinct in my heart cries out. No, I can- 
not! I will atone! “A little child shall lead 
them.” My baby’s arms shall draw me back 
from the dark abyss and her little hand will 
lead me back to peace and light, and through 
her, I will make my life acceptable in the sight 

165 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


of God. He will help me I know as the curtain 
drops for the last time on my life’s tragedy. 
He will show me the way to rest; will lighten 
my trials, and will comfort my weary heart. 

"Often from wrong’s own darkness, 

Comes the very strength of right; 

And from lips that have tasted sadness. 

The sweetest songs will fall.” 


1 66 


CHAPTER TWENTY 


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CHAPTER TWENTY 


WOMAN’S LOVE 

“The only thing that’s constant in the world. 

The only peak that stands above the clouds. 

The only window where the light ever burns, 
The only star that darkness cannot dim, 

Is woman’s love. 

“It rises to the greatest of all heights. 

It sinks into the lowest of all depths. 

Forgets, forgives the most and deepest wrongs. 
Perrenial in life. 

It finds its homes in every clime. 

Not coldness, cruelty, neglect or wrong 
Can alter, weaken or extinguish it.’’ 


OHAKESPEARE’S version of life seems so 
^ true: “All the world’s a stage and we are 
the actors thereon.” Night drops the curtain 
when each act is done. Day lifts it and the 
ever faithful sun is there to light the glad or 
tragic play. The curtain fell on the act of life 
and still the actor lay. An angel watched at 
his head and smiled; the player had suffered 
and sinned as all of us must and will. 


169 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Orthodoxy is very tolerant. It forgives 
everything except the truth. Society does not 
punish those who sin, but those who sin and 
conceal it not. This world at times seems a 
sorry scheme of things grotesque with inequali- 
ties. They who do not know the faults in the 
minds of others who have erred, or the tempta- 
tions which assailed them, cannot with impu- 
nity judge them. All laws, human and divine, 
demand not only that we should highly con- 
sider those who have erred, but give to the 
sinful an opportunity to obliterate the griev- 
ous mistakes of the past. 

As I consider the little drama of my life, I 
wonder how, in after years it will seem to look 
back upon the past months of torture through 
which I have passed. Possibly, in moments of 
retrospection I can smile with complaceny and 
wonder how my heart could have been so lacer- 
ated by human passions and human love. 

The old religions in the Far East tell us that 
man rises nearest to the gods above, becoming 
even as they, in the last ecstacy of human love. 
“For though you hold that love is brief and 
mortal, what other way can I attain to you.” 
Perchance in after years, when the heart is 
dead (if that be possible) to all such memories, 
or after numerous trials, my heart may become 

170 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


calloused, and the anguish through which I am 
now passing may seem as a dream. Perhaps I 
may learn to view life philosophically. 

What is the end? What does one do when 
the best in life is taken away, leaving only 
what is trivial, stunted and narrow, with the 
sun of our happiness forever set? After the 
first paroxysm of fear of the sudden darkness 
passes we light the candle, called patience, or 
try to and guide our footsteps by that. 

Is it so dreadfully wrong to yield obedience 
to the impulse of the heart, the natural human 
impulse that vibrates with love ? The past can- 
not be reclaimed, yet it acts or should act as a 
preventive of a repetition of past errors. 

If the family of the girl, or the girl herself, 
whom my love is going to marry knew that his 
marriage with her is simply an avenue of 
escape from financial trouble or embarrass- 
ment, or were they permitted to see the under 
current, would they not recoil with contempt 
and loathing could they hear his protestations 
of love to the woman he is so deeply and cruelly 
wronging? It seems that I, and I alone, am 
permitted a glimpse behind the scenes of his 
life. 

For gold and prestige, he is marrying an- 
other! Poor girl! What an awakening for 

171 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


her when she discovers the fact and realizes 
that she is not loved ! Truly, I feel grieved for 
her in the sorrow sure to follow. What can be 
more horrible than an unrequited love? With 
a word, I could doubtless, save her from such 
a fate, but some unforseen force impels me to 
stand still and watch the drama played through 
to the end without a prompter. The wonder of 
it is that I do not turn it into tragedy. 

My . love is an enigma to me. Can he be with- 
out doubt, the most deceitful man on earth, or 
is he really a good man at heart, with a mis- 
guided brain? How tender and loving, sweet 
and kind he can be and has been. Why did he 
bestow on me a love intense but ephemeral ! Is 
he doing what he really believes is best? No. 
He cannot be good, perish the thought, when 
he is false to his every vow, false to me; to the 
woman he is to marry, as well as to his own 
soul. ’ i 

Did man ever love with any but a selfish 
love ? Did woman ever, when in love, exercise 
any reasoning power ? 

A man moralizes, standing on a crushed 
heart and ruined life. He never discovers his 
mistake until a woman’s life is wrecked. Then 
it is natural for him to moralize; that is his 
bulwark of defense. 


172 




THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 

At times I feel no emotion toward him, but 
the scorn he deserves, yet when I see him 
wretched and unhappy the softer feelings of 
my heart are again in the ascendancy and 
surge in great waves of sympathy for him. It 
may seem marvelous that for one instant I can 
feel pity for him, when for me he has shown no 
gleam of consideration. 

Belligerent thoughts again assail me. Why 
not accept every favor from him? He should 
be compelled to slave for me ! When he gains 
his rich wife, with her father’s money, let him 
spend it on me ! I could demand anything and 
he dare not refuse me. I could make his life a 
veritable Inferno ! 

Fie ! Away with such thoughts ! I could not 
depart so far from my lofty standard of noble 
womanhood. Never! If he can so strip his 
soul of honor, he shall see that a woman can 
and does understand the real meaning of honor 
and integrity. Were I a beggar, I would not 
accept alms from him. 

. Let him enjoy his ill gotten wealth, if it be 
possible to enjoy anything bought at such a 
■ price. I would scorn gold or honor if I had to 
purchase it at the price of the best within me. 
I know with the shadows that will surround 
him, and with conscience pursuing his every 

173 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


footsteps, there cannot be much peace attain- 
able. Life to him will be torture ; it cannot be 
otherwise. God in justice would not allow it. 

How fearful he was that I would say or do 
something to mar his plans. How he pleaded 
with me to say nothing to the girl’s family to 
make them think less of him ; to save him from 
their suspicion, and as I understood after- 
wards, led them to believe that, as usual, it was 
the woman to blame. Merciful God ! Can such 
treachery be permitted? Yet this man is hon- 
ored and loved by a large following. 

Of course, the girl and her people believe 
him. What more natural? Credulous fools 
that they are. They seem as anxious as he for 
the marriage, but for vastly different reasons, 
as the girl, with all her father’s money, is be- 
low the average woman intellectually. Fancy 
being united with a woman where no congen- 
iality can exist, as she is nothing but a butter- 
fly; all ostentation; a mere nonentity in this 
busy work-a-day world. Every day will he 
not miss the woman who could have made 
every hour of his life a heaven? Could have 
made it pass like a bright dream? One who 
stood with him on the same plane of intelli- 
gence, comprehensing and appreciative of his 
every thought. 


174 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


This is Christmas Day. How I have dreaded 
it. Last Christmas I was so happy. I lived in 
a fool’s paradise, and saw it vanish ere the year 
was old. I allowed my foolish heart to wander, 
gathering the roses of life, only to end by gar- 
nering the ashes of regret. How much more 
acute the suffering, than the pleasure. 

A few months of bitter sorrow has robbed 
me of what years cannot replace. Robbed me 
not only of every hope and confidence in human 
affection, but has converted me from a young 
looking woman into one prematurely old, yet 
not in years. I am only a few months past 
thirty. My hair has turned almost white in 
six months. 

How severely I have censured myself for 
allowing such a thing to happen. I still have 
life before me to cull and pick from. Surely 
there must be some flowers strewn along the 
pathway, yet how desolate it seems when we 
can only feel the prick of the thorns as the 
crown presses deeper into the quivering flesh ! 

Life seems like a great ocean, and we are 
stranded upon the shore without rudder or 
spar, we are drifting in mid-ocean, on, into 
the great sea of eternity. How will God find 
us? 


175 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


How sweet the thought is that we do not 
know what the future holds for us. We can- 
not look forward with assured hope, no matter 
how fair the perspective, but in God’s divine 
love and pardon He assures us that in heaven 
we shall be satisfied. God shall wipe away all 
tears. Often when dark thoughts seem to en- 
shroud my soul, almost to the exclusion of 
everything else, I can in fancy hear a soft, 
sweet voice in tender appealing accents, whis- 
per to my heart-sick soul. I know it is the 
voice of my mother in heaven: “Patience for 
a little while and all will be well; our life is 
short, but God alone can heal the broken heart. 
He can make our hearts light and happy, and 
the burdens easy.” 

If I should die before the man I love, I trust 
I may be granted the privilege of returning, if 
only for an hour, that I might perchance, look 
into his heart and conscience and see if he pos- 
sesses the power to suffer equal to mine. 

To God I commend the soul of the man I 
love. I hope in time he may realize the enorm- 
ity of the sin he has committed against the 
heart that has been, and is, true and loyal to 
him ; that feels for him a love so great, that can 
only fall to our share once in a lifetime. 

176 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I fully realize that the sun of my happiness 
is forever set as the shadows gather in my life, 
followed by a long night that lays bare my soul. 
I cannot but feel that sweet would be the sleep 
of death ; if in oblivion, my restless soul could 
find the peace it seeks. I pray that God in His 
all wise judgment can, and will, condone the 
sin my love has committed against me. “For- 
giveness is like the perfume that the flower 
gives back to the foot that crushed it.” 

“Let our unceasing, earnest prayer be for light, 

For strength to bear our portion of the weight of care. 
That crushes into dumb despair. 

One half the human race.” 


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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 


‘^One day wearied with my weaving, 
Heeding not if it were ill done. 
Watched I the other weavers working. 
Saw their threads break, one by one. 

“Knot and snarl, tear and tangle. 

Not one perfect fabric there. 

And few did seem to know it. 

And none did seem to care. 

“And I sought perfection purely. 
Thought not on the brittle thread ; 

And for flaws I idly sorrowed. 

Till a voice within me said. 

“Would it help their faulty weaving. 

If you grieved out all your years? 
God sees it, think you His eyes too 
Are dimmed with futile tears? 

“It is smoothing out the snarles that help. 
Not weeping over wrong. 

So take from out love’s work-box, 

A skein of joy-thread strong: 

“And the ragged, raw, rough places, 

You have wept for all the while. 

You shall overcast with beauty, 

And embroider with a smile. 


179 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


“Then return to your own shuttle ; 

From these threads weave new brocade, 
Threads of joy that will not tangle, 

Threads of love that will not fade. 

“And with this fairer fabric. 

And more perfect design. 

No weariness or fault finding. 

No tears will be thine.” 

— Famine Haynes Martin. 

TT IS not often, perhaps only once in a life 
time, that an opportunity is given us to look 
into the innermost recesses of the human soul. 
At times, love for a little while lifts the veil and 
men and women see into each others hearts, 
but passion swiftly comes obscuring all and 
nearing souls are swept apart. Thus our in- 
most selves remain a sealed chapter to the end 
of time, and those whose very lives are blended 
with ours, cannot with justice, be called even 
friend. 

Could I but celebrate my release in the tent 
of silence and the camp of peace ; could I but 
go the way of the open sea, to the lands I knew 
before you came, and pray that the cool, clean 
breeze may blow from me the memory of your 
name. Will the transient sorrow you caused 
me, ever fade away in the dim distance? God 

180 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


is love, and I wonder how you will make your 
peace with Him. 

If we could only be satisfied to let life slip 
away and take its course, without attempting 
to shape our own destinies, we might in time 
learn resignation. If we could fully realize 
that no matter how we struggle ; what attempts 
we make; what goal we strive to reach, we 
shall only leave in the passing, scarce a finger 
mark in the dust of time. 

The question is, can an indomitable will 
shape life, or does life crush any will, no mat- 
ter how strong, into sand and dust? At times, 
life seems to some of us a long, black night of 
prolonged boredom, with an occasional flash of 
hope that penetrates the oppressive blackness. 

“There was a time, long, long ago, when love 
made life one glad, sweet song; the roses 
bloomed, the wild birds sang, and I found 
heaven here below. Love changed as the sea- 
sons do. A gray mist swept across my sky of 
happiness; the roses drooped; the birds were 
hushed, and over my life the chill winds 
rushed.” 

“She came tonight as I sat alone, 

The girl I used to be. 

And she gazed at me with her earnest eyes. 
And questioned reproachfully. 

i8i 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


“Have you forgotten the many plans, 

And hopes that I held for you ? 

The great career, the splendid fame. 

And the wonderful things to do? 

“Where is the mansion of stately height 
With all its grounds surpassing fair? 

The silken robes, I dreamed for you, 

And jewels for your hair? 

“And as she talked I was very sad. 

This slender girl from the shadowy past. 

The girl I used to be.” 

The last day of the year! No matter what 
daily influences rule our lives, when the old 
year passes out with laggard, tottering steps, 
we bid it adieu with a sigh of relief, and 
turn with a smile to greet the New Year as it 
enters with brisk, buoyant steps, feeling that 
it brings with it a new influence which must 
exert itself. We wonder with childish curios- 
ity what the New Year conceals beneath its 
brilliant mantle, yet we dare not raise its folds 
to see. 

Some of us are sanguine; some of us think 
of the pleasures the New Year promises, but in 
each heart there is a hope that it brings more 
happiness than did its predecessor. I contem- 
plate it only as another long season of endur- 
ance. 

182 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Why is it that the bitter of life is so marked 
for some of us, while for others, there seems to 
be no taint of the bitter in the sweet; still, 
“every 'heart knoweth its own sorrow,” and if 
we could raise an occasional mask, often we 
would find a sad heart hidden deep behind a 
smiling face. 

So many have drunk of the wine of life and 
found it tasteless, and think there is nothing 
left but the bitter lees. 

I cannot think it possible for this New Year 
to bring me more unhappiness, yet I should 
hope for the best. The past year brought me a 
brief period of supreme happiness, no, not su- 
preme happiness, for there always lurked in my 
mind an indefinable fear which I could not ban- 
ish. We may think we can attain happiness 
other than by following the strict laws of con- 
vention, but time and circumstances have al- 
ways proven to the contrary. I could not at 
that time understand ; I do now. 

It is not happiness to love intensely and pas- 
sionately. Love that is calm and tranquil 
means happiness, but this love that burns and 
eats into the very heart like a vampire, sucking 
the life’s blood, can bring no happiness in its 
wake; yet I cannot but feel that if the man I 
loved so deeply had been true to me, as I am to 

183 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 

him, we could have been, oh, so blissfully 
happy. 

As the crucial moment draws nearer, it 
seems harder for my love to give me up. If I 
could convince myself that he is really false 
at heart and throw off the impression that 
there is something I cannot understand, I 
might feel differently. I have purposely led 
him on to see how far he would prove him- 
self true to the woman who is to be his wife. 
Probably it was wrong, but only by stringent 
measures could I convince my foolish heart. 
I felt that I might overcome, partially at least, 
the keen anguish of my life, if I could know, 
that he had always been false at heart ; I might 
feel that utter contempt for him which pride 
prompts I should. 

Each time I see him, he clings to my love 
with more intensity, and implores me to con- 
tinue to love him; that he cannot live without 
my love, that he will love me through life. 
What a farce ! What a husband he will make ! 
Married to one woman, yet loving another to 
such an extent, that he would, if opportunity 
offered, or if I would allow it, be false to every 
vow and obligation made to his so-called wife. 

He doubtless clasps her in his arms and 
swears to an undying love for her, while to 

184 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


me he swears to a love that will never change. 
It would seem that her woman’s intuition would 
tell her that he is not sincere in his avowals. 
“Honored well are vows that sell, if priest the 
selling do.” 

A woman who once yields obedience to the 
natural impulse of a great love, is an outcast 
from society, but, if for position and social 
standing, she grants herself to a man, though 
he may hate her, a clergyman’s benediction 
makes her a respectable and honored matron. 
I think Robert Louis Stevenson’s comment on 
“Respectability” is a true one : “Respectability 
is a very good thing in its way, but it does 
not rise superior to all considerations ; I would 
not for a moment venture to hint that it was 
a matter of taste, but I think I will go as far 
as this: that if a position is admittedly un- 
kind, uncomfortable, unnecessary and super- 
fluously useless, although it were as respect- 
able as the Church of England, the sooner a 
man is out of it, the better for himself and 
all concerned.” 

My Love’s fiancee is ill. I suppose their 
marriage will have to be postponed, unless 
they are married while she is ill. However, 
in his fear of the golden bird escaping from 
him, he may even do that, to make sure of his 

185 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


brilliant opportunity. Imagine a man marry- 
ing a woman, almost an invalid, merely for a 
mercenary consideration! What a dastardly 
thing to do ! 

Life was meant for something better and 
higher. I will dedicate my life to higher aims 
this New Year. God will help me to make life 
brighter for some, will help me to crush out the 
old bitter thoughts that are clouding and warp- 
ing my soul. I know from trouble and sor- 
row, none are exempt; happiness is a quest 
which we are ever seeking, illusive and shy, 
blown out as easily as a candle is extinguished. 

“Love for some, a softened radiance, 

Tender as the mom’s. 

For others, but the glare of life’s 
Grim funeral pyre. 

For some, a soothing warmth. 

For others, a rain of fire. 

For you perchance, a wreath of roses. 

For me, a crown of thorns.’’ 


i86 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 




CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 

“The soul secure in her existence smiles. 

At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 

The stars shall fade away; the sun himself 
Grows dim with age, and nature sink in years; 
But thou shalt flourish in immortality. 

Amid the war of elements. 

The wreck of matter and the crush of worlds.” 

— Addison. 


TV/TY LITTLE world is no more! It has 
been swept away as by an avalanche. 
My body with its numb heart, seems to have 
perished, but my soul still lives on, flying 
through space without a course, seeking some 
stray planet on which to make its abode. 

My Love is married! I cannot force the 
realization of the fact through my heart and 
brain. I know he is gone, and I am alone. 
I feel that if I stay here, I shall go mad! 

I resurrected my buried pride and hurried 
away to the great metropolis, there to seek 
diversion in the maelstrom of excitement. I 
haunted the theatres and every other place of 
amusement that could be found, until I was 
overcome with physical weariness. It was 


189 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


useless. When I sought my room late at night 
the reaction was terrifying; my nerves were 
panic stricken. My aching brain and heart- 
sick soul refused to allow me to sleep. What 
terrible battles I fought all alone, trying to 
crush every feeling of goodness and tenderness. 

After six weeks of unavailing struggle, I 
returned to the weary treadmill and slavery 
of an every day existence, toiling from early 
morning until late at night, seeking in work 
a panacea for my ills. 

I returned with a grim determination to 
hide every pain and heartache so deep that no 
suspicion could be gleaned from my assumed 
indifference, by the most observant. 

I might possibly have succeeded after a while 
as we are taught to believe that time dulls 
the edge of the keenest anguish; but the day 
after my return, I met face to face the man 
who by every God given power in my nature, 
I was trying to shut out of my life and banish 
from my memory. He met me by intent. 

With tears streaming down his face, he 
begged me to speak to him. He told me how 
he had sought me in the great city, (where 
he also had gone with his bride) but always 
had found me absent from my hotel. Heart- 
sick and weary he had returned from his 


190 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


wedding trip. He did not call it that, but that 
is what is was. 

He told me how he had left his bride of a few 
days, alone in the city, for hours at a time, 
while he watched and waited at the hotel where 
he thought that I might be staying, for the 
return of the woman whom he had so cruelly 
wronged, that he might plead for forgiveness 
and pardon. 

It seemed almost impossible to doubt his sin- 
cerity. Blame me who will; I was weak. I 
know it now ; I knew it then. I loved him with 
every fibre of my being and was powerless to 
resist his pleadings. He swore that his love 
for me was boundless ; that to live one blissful 
happy year with me would be preferable to a 
million years with anyone else. 

This was his first, but not by any means, 
his last overture. Three months after his mar- 
riage, I received this letter from him: 

My Darling: 

The one imperishable thing of this earth is love. 
Once implanted in the human heart it cannot be ex- 
tinguished, but bums on brightly to the end. Disaster 
and disappointment cannot blight it. It is the living, 
moving, dominating influence of the heart that feels 
it, and he who has not felt it has not known genuine 
happiness, for the love of which I speak is the divine 

IQI 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


spark inculcated into our natures, which is the source 
of all pleasure, and the rest that rewards all sorrows. 

Life without love is stagnant and insipid. The 
heart is empty, the soul is sad. But, My Darling, 
what I would say had I the adequate words is, that 
I love you, and it cannot, will not die; whatever my 
condition in life may be; whatever my environments 
and my surroundings and influences, my heart re- 
mains the same. Every day, every hour and every 
heart throb is a continuous prayer for your welfare 
and your happiness. 

Circumstances unforseen and unavoidable changed 
the current of my life, and destroyed all the happiness 
that life had in store for me. Had I been left free 
to pursue the natural course of my desires, I would 
have been the happiest man beneath the march of 
the sun, because the sweetest, dearest and best woman 
that God ever made had blessed me with her love 
and promised me the love my heart craved and which 
alone could make me happy. But Alas! Fate, cruel 
and unsympathizing, decreed for me another destiny, 
and mapped out for me, a life cold and cheerless, be- 
cause it lacks the genial warmth that comes only from 
love; the only genuine happiness I have ever known 
has come from you, and I had hoped and prayed that 
the remainder of my life could be spent in your sweet 
society and that your angelic smile could ever dispel 
the clouds that daily hover about the life of one who 
works; that your sweet words of aifectionate counsel 
and encouragement would nerve me for the contest 
of life. 

I desired neither wealth nor fame. I craved no 
paltry honor or influence in this life. My heart's 


192 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


desire and sole ambition was to completely occupy your 
heart and feel and know that you loved me. 

I will not attempt to describe the feelings that have 
at times occupied my heart during the last few months ; 
they are too dark and too sad for you to know, even 
if I could properly portray them. I will only say, that 
never was a life so dark and so unhappy as is mine. 
The mental pictures of the past come up before me 
in the sleeping and in waking hours, one after another, 
to remind me of the happy, happy past, and many 
things that have been spoken are constantly whispered 
in my ear, some of which makes my heart leap for 
joy even from the recollection of the happiness I knew 
then. Some make me sad, and one sentence. Oh God, 
why will it continue to haunt me and make me so 
unbearably sad, ‘'Did you know it was Christmas 
time 

Yes, I knew it, because my heart was breaking, 
but if I live a thousand years, I shall never forget 
this sentence. The words, their accent, and how they 
burned way down deep into my heart, and the ex- 
pression of the sad but sweet face of the noble woman 
who spoke them. But, dearest, let me not speak of 
these things. I want to say something, but it seems 
I cannot. 

In conclusion, let me beg of you, to look with pity 
and not censure upon the blasted life of the man who 
loves you. The love will never grow less. Divine 
things cannot die. I ask you to still love me because 
I desire it, not because my course in life deserves it; 
but the love I still give you does deserve it. I know 
the love I give you is pure. It may cross that which 
God ordained as the cementing elements of social and 


193 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


marital relation, because it is that love, the love of a 
husband I give you. Yet above and beyond that I 
idolize you; I worship you as my Sovereign Queen. 
You are the wife of my soul, my all in all, and I still 
look to you as the source of all the happiness that 
can ever come to me in this life. Whether you gratify 
all the desires of this deep, pure love, boundless as 
the sea, or not, you could still give me some token 
of affection. It could not harm you and would make 
me infinitely and supremely happy. 

Now I must stop, and let us hope that the good 
God who brought us together; who implanted within 
us the power of such great love, will soften the pangs 
for us, and in the end, direct all things for the best. 
This is my prayer this night. My Darling, for the 
woman I love beyond words to express. 

Good Night, and may the God that made this love 
possible watch over you. 

Your Very Own. 

Truly an enjoyable letter to send to the 
woman he had so wantonly wounded to the 
death. Would it not be cheering to a wife of 
three months to know that her husband had 
written such a letter to another? 

'T’d give the world could I forget 
I ere had looked into his eyes. 

For though I wander all alone. 

With all my soul I love him yet.'* 

My niece was suddenly taken ill, and was 
very ill for many weeks. As My Love was 


194 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


their family physician, unavoidable circum- 
stances threw us together at her bedside quite 
often that Spring. We watched through many 
vigils together. 

He exerted every power he possessed in try- 
ing to prove his love for me, and to show with 
what appreciation and esteem he regarded me, 
until at last, I was again engulfed in the strong 
current of his love, which bore me on as re- 
lentlessly as the foaming rapids sweeps a frail 
craft caught in their mad rush. I was again 
caught in the whirlpool of his love. My soul 
was indissolubly linked with his by vows of 
love, which he swore that death could not sever, 
but would live on and on. 

“Till the sun grows cold, 

And the stars are old, 

And the leaves of the judgment book unfold.” 


195 


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’ V 






CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 


“We walk within the shadow, 

And feel its thickening fold, 

That wraps us round and holds us close, 

A cloak against the cold. 

“But the shadow always lifts. 

And the sunlight glows again. 

There are sudden gleams of brightness. 
Sweet, clear, shining after rain. 

“Sometimes we must face the shadow. 

Where the wind blows keen and cold. 

But the darkness fades at dawning. 

And the East is flecked with gold.” 

After a few months elapsed, my Love 
"^^came to me, and in an appealing manner 
asked of me a pledge. His loveless marriage 
had palled on him to such an extent that it 
had become unbearable. He pleaded with me 
to go with him into exile for a while until 
he could be freed by law, so that he might 
make me his honored wife as he longed to do. 

I willingly and gladly granted the pledge 
without any thought of hesitancy. Where 
would I not go with him? What would I not 


197 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


do for him? Day by day I waited hoping for 
the time to come; vain were my plans and 
dreams; as duty seemed to assert a stronger 
element in his life, as the days and weeks went 
by. He had pledged himself to me, declaring 
that he was true and loyal to me ; assuring me 
that his wife by law, was his wife in name 
only; that nothing but the common courtesies 
of an every day life existed between them. 

In his word and honor I placed my confi- 
dence and lived contentedly for a while, believ- 
ing that I possessed all of his love; that upon 
me only, was lavished every tender and kind 
word ; yet do I not know the world and human 
nature better than to have believed that his 
so-called wife would have accepted submis- 
sively such an existence for so many months? 
His explanation of this condition was very 
plausible: “She is and always will be an in- 
valid.” 

I divined that pride restrained her from 
acknowledging to the world her loveless life. 
All through the summer I lived in an illusive 
dream, thinking and believing that in a little 
while, all would be well ; that he would arrange 
his business affairs so that we could go to a 
new country, and there, reconstruct our future 
life as we desired. 


198 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Still a few months later, I had occasion to 
visit his office. While there, he was called 
out for a few moments. I had often told him 
that I would rearrange his disordered papers 
and letters in his desk for him. I thought this 
a good opportunity to do so. 

I commenced by picking up the scattered 
papers. Among them was a package of letters. 
The postmark of a nearby city attracted my 
attention, dated October. Knowing that his 
wife had been there at that time, I was goaded 
by an unseen tempter to know the contents of 
those. Despite honor, if it were an act of dis- 
honor, I was constrained to open and read. 

Fate again! Fate seemed to decree that I 
should choose that particular letter. There 
were two or three others in the same hand- 
writing, but I read only the one. It was a 
very rapturous epistle and touched upon mat- 
ters and incidents that could not have trans- 
pired; circumstances which could not possibly 
have existed had they been living as I was led 
to believe. They had, as I knew from this 
letter, been living together as man and wife. 
His pretensions of love must to her have been 
very convincing to elicit a manifestation 
couched in the tenderest of endearments, and 
signed with the initials “D. B.” 


199 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


My blood seemed to congeal as I read. He 
would be back in a moment. I must thrust 
it back with the others. I made one supreme 
effort to show him a smiling face, and suc- 
ceeded. The assertion that every woman is a 
born actress is a truth. He has no idea that 
I am in possession of this knowledge. 

Every word of that letter was stamped in- 
delibly upon my brain in letters of fire. Every 
day of my life they flare up before my mental 
vision and I can in fancy hear those sweet and 
tender endearments echoed, until at times I 
feel that I shall go mad. He continues to as- 
sure me of his fidelity and though with those 
flaming words before me, I still cling to my 
faith in his word, his honor and his sincerity 
to me. 

What means man’s honor ! His pledge ! To 
the most of men their personal significance is 
of far more consequence. He would deem it 
a dishonor to break a pledge to another man, 
even were it of the most trivial nature; but 
to a woman, what does it matter? If she be 
such a dupe as to believe in man’s honor and 
integrity, she should be taught a lesson and 
he would be her teacher. What is his promise ? 
Nothing! What cares he for the wounds he 
inflicts. 


200 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


My soul has been pierced deeper and deeper 
by the man whom I trusted. The man who is 
loved and trusted by all who know him, and 
they look upon his character as unimpeachable ; 
a man honored among men. This man knew 
that his duplicity caused me to suffer tortures. 
He watched the process and saw day by day, 
the silver threads upon my head become legion, 
yet he stayed not my sorrow by word or deed. 
Life has left for my solution no problem half 
so grim as this. 

Since that time, my health has failed rapidly. 
Hitherto I had not known what it was to be 
ill and miserable. My nerves now are shat- 
tered. Why will I allow my life to be so domi- 
nated? Even now, when I know that he has 
not kept faith with me, I love him to the ex- 
clusion of everything, and he seems to love me 
with a love that is divine. Can it be his desire 
to keep me living in this manner indefinitely? 

The question often has been asked, is life 
worth the living? Probably a few may have 
threaded the devious ways of life and found 
them not dark and thorny, but light and strewn 
with flowers. I cannot imagine such a life. 
As the years roll by I think all have some dark 
hours. None are exempt. Yet be the way ever 
so dark, little sunbeams of hope shine fitfully 


201 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


along our pathway, and something whispers 
to oUr hearts — “wait! God in His own good 
time will make it right,” and our spirits revive 
in anticipation of a future that spreads out 
before us a beautiful panorama. Will that be 
realized? We must wait, while hope sustains 
our hearts. 

Two years have passed since I started this 
chapter. Christmas time is here again with 
its attending reminiscent sadness. The day 
following Christmas, I met my Love on the 
street and exchanged greetings with him. A 
little later I received the following letter from 
him: 

Dear One; 

“Did you know it was Christmas time?” So spoke 
a heartbroken little woman to an unhappy wretched 
man as they met the day succeeding Christmas, A. D. 
1896. 

Her pale face, her wasted form, sunken eyes and 
worn look told plainly of the misery within; but her 
soft, sweet voice indicated that she harbored no un- 
kind feeling for the perfidy which he had practiced. 

Her pleading tones as she uttered these words “Did 
you know it was Christmas time,” seared themselves 
into his conscience, there to remain forever: not as 
a punishment for misguided acts, but as a beacon 
light to guide and direct him forever in the path of 
rectitude. 


202 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


If there was a callous spot in the heart of that 
man, it was softened then. That voice, that tone, 
that look, would have melted a heart of stone. It 
carried the conviction to his heart that her love for 
him had been strong enough to blot out the mistakes 
of the past and make her as pure as an angel, and 
in her goodness of heart, she knew this man whom 
she loved was not by nature, mean. 

She knew what seemed perfidy on his part, was in 
truth, a misguided act; she knew and loved the good 
that was in him. She doubtless recognized and for- 
gave the bad. 

That memorable morning was the culmination of 
a love that was born in heaven, and as they stood 
there, face to face, I have no doubt, the King of 
Heaven, looked with pity upon them both, for He 
alone knew the misery of those two hearts. 

You, My Darling, can speak for the woman; I, for 
the man. I know your misery was great, but it could 
not have equalled mine. I passed on and came to the 
office, but those words were still audible, that sweet, 
pale, but lovely face was still visible. No pen could 
picture the misery of that day’s vision of a happy 
Christmas Eve when all was so bright and happy, and 
how I read 'The Night Before Christmas” to the 
sweet little girl, and the smiles of My Darling illum- 
ined this heart, and I was truly happy. 

As I thought of this, the words burned deeper into 
my unhappy soul, and I could not endure it longer. 
The tears trickled down my pallid cheeks. Each tear 
was a crystal drop of condensed misery, but if I had 
shed enough to fill an ocean, it could not have drained 
the misery from my weary heart that day. 


203 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Two years have elapsed since then, and I know, as 
you do, the trials which they have contained. I 
would not if I could, call them to mind this night, 
this Christmas Eve, to mar the pleasure, but what- 
ever misery these two years have brought us, they 
have taught a lesson, the lesson that love is enduring, 
and I reverently thank God this night that you have 
been spared to me, and that your love has been as 
fixed as the hills, that through it all, you have been 
constant and faithful. That you have entrusted your 
life to my care, no one can cause you to swerve from 
the devotion to the man whom you love. 

My Darling, I pray God tonight, that we are very 
near the end of this misery, and that ere long you 
shall have that reward which you so richly deserve. 
You shall be happy; years of suffering have endeared 
you to me. Severe tests have strengthened my confi- 
dence in you, and your noble bearing has augmented 
my admiration for you; and tonight, you are all I 
would have you to be, my heart’s ideal. I know 
not how else to express it. I only know that I love 
you ; deeply, purely and entirely. 

My Darling, I will not worry you longer, but will 
say that if there be sadness in this Christmas for you, 
let me point you to the next, and each succeeding one, 
and ask you to draw from them, such measure of 
happiness as you think possible to you with the man 
who loves you with the deepest and purest devotion 
that ever emanated from one heart. 

And now may the blessings of Him who made 
Christmas possible, be yours, and a happy and af- 
fectionate good night, from 

Your Very Own. 


204 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


“To fear is harder than to weep, 

To watch than to endure. 

The hardest of all griefs to bear. 

Is the grief that is not sure.” 

How the above lines come into my mind 
day after day; after two years of life, a life 
that has had but one hope, but one dream, 
but one thought, after the most ardent love 
from the man that surely loves me with a love 
that will be enduring. 

Why then this haunting fear! Why do so 
many things come into my mind to make me 
unhappy! Why will the past rise up like a 
spectre! At times I can rise above my sur- 
roundings and live, in a perfect glow of sun- 
shine from the rays of hope of the future, but 
“hope deferred maketh the heart sad.” The 
shadows of darkness often seem to enshroud 
me. 

Oh, God, for the power to lift them! To 
the world the future that I wait and long for 
would seem a sin, yet m my heart I know that 
it is not. 

“The darkest day lived until tomorrow. 

Will have passed away. 

Leave the meaning to God, 

Leave the answer to Him.” 


205 


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• ^ k,:^ 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 


, “To die, to sleep, 

To sleep, perchance to dream, aye, there's the rub; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil 
Must give us pause 

“Who would these fardels bear, 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life. 

But that the dread of something after death. 

The undiscovered country, from whose bourne no 
traveler returns, 

Puzzles the will 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have 
Then fly to others that we know not of. 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all. 

And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sickbed o'er with pale cast of thought, 

And enterprises of great pith and moment. 

With this regard their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action." 

— Shakespeare. 

RULY conscience does make cowards of 
^ us all. Who would hazard the leap into 
the great Unknown? Do we, as the years 
pass by (swiftly to some) stop to consider 
how they have been spent, or why we con- 


207 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


tinue? What is to be the final end of the 
journey? Will our hearts be at rest or will 
they still be seeking, what they ne’er can find 
on earth, peace and contentment? 

I have often thought that at this time of my 
life, I should possess enough strength of char- 
acter to consider sentiment dispassionately, 
and to deviate from it to the more tangible or 
material substance of life, but as the years 
press heavily upon us, do we not naturally feel 
the need, and long for human love more 
acutely? We cannot infuse life into our imag- 
ination and live on the pictures our youthful 
minds conjure up. Youth itself is an inex- 
haustible spring of hope. 

The world in general would probably make 
analysis of my condition as follows : A widow, 
with one child, dependent upon her own re- 
sources, having the ability to occupy a respons- 
ible position, with a greater remuneration than 
that of the majority of her sex; maintaining 
for herself and child a degree of independence, 
having accumulated enough to realize a small 
income. 

Thus analyzed, I would doubtless be con- 
sidered by the majority as occupying an envi- 
able position in the world. Yet I feel that 
greater success might have attended my efforts, 

208 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


had I sought a larger field and concentrated 
my mind and energies on my work. I might 
have attained almost, if not absolute, indepen- 
dence, if I could have quelled the fever of un- 
rest that so often took possession of my soul. 
I might have practiced economy to a greater 
extent, and even in a small town, would have 
been more successful financially. 

My restless soul would at times refuse to 
submit to restraint, and then I felt, that I must 
seek a change; new scenes, where I would 
combat the restive impulse, until my energy 
was wasted, when I would return and shoulder 
the burdens again. 

What vast, immeasurable, unexplored depths 
there are in all our lives. Every one has a 
life within themselves that the world knows 
not of. I think we are all dissemblers, more 
or less; I am quite sure that if the innermost 
workings of my most secret thoughts were ex- 
posed to the world, they would cause me social 
ostracism ; yet I refuse to consider myself more 
wicked than the majority of humanity. If we 
could peer below the surface, what strange and 
interesting stories would be revealed to us; 
what mysteries we would discover in each life. 

Shall I probe a secret chapter in my life, 
and disclose the concealed pages to the scrutiny 


209 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


of the curious ; truly a delectable morsel. Why 
not? It might perchance serve as a moral, or 
a warning to the thoughtful; to the thought- 
less and the inconsiderate, why care? 

For years my life has been a living lie; plain 
language but nevertheless true. I live within 
myself, while forced to mingle with the busi- 
ness world ; socially leading the life of a recluse. 
I cannot cause myself to awaken an interest in 
my fellow beings. When I see them in deep 
trouble, I realize it only in a dazed way, as 
though it were incomprehensible to me. Per- 
haps it is innate selfishness. I will not gainsay 
it. 

It is many years since the man who, by every 
sacred vow that could be made to woman was 
pledged to me. Every day he is living a lie 
that is degrading his manhood ; that lowers his 
honor; for be he false or true to me, he is 
leading a dual life that is damnable. To the 
world he is the husband, at least in name, of 
one woman, while at heart he is bound to me 
by vows as irrevocable as death. What is the 
finality? 

When I was ill the past week, I thought it 
would be better if I should die, but we cannot 
die when we will. We must submit to the 
inevitable decree of God, unless we hazard the 


210 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Great Unknown. In a novel based on fiction, 
I would perhaps be the one to die; then Love 
would discover many admirable traits in the 
unloved wife, and all his affection would flow 
into its natural channel; they would be reunited 
and live long and happy “forever after” ; but as 
this is a true story, I did not die, and there is 
no probability of my doing so at present. 

What will be the culmination of my phan- 
tasm of happiness? Will my Love ever ful- 
fill his promise? Happiness! The pessimist 
claims there is none, as nothing makes us hap- 
py for any length of time ; it is too ephemeral, 
yet, according to God’s law, love means hap- 
piness. 

Ah, what if the world do’th mock at such! 
What if those to whom such joy cometh not, 
what if they sneer as imps, deride the purest 
joy of paradise ! Heed them not. Oh, children 
of Eros, heed them not! Be happy for the 
scant day a God of mercy gives you, yea fool- 
ishly happy, in that one untainted inch of Eden 
yet left to human lives. If thy rapture be 
but a brilliant mirage, indulge it ere it fade. 
If it be but a beautiful fable, believe it. Oh, 
blindly believe it, for therein lieth the one pure 
pool which the serpent hath no power to pollute. 


2II 



CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 


“My heart grew rich that day; 

My soul more noble grew; 

For her tears that fell were pearls in the ray 
Of the great sun love that shall chase away 
The night and its gloom-born dew. 

"I would that I could spend 
My life in joy like this 

I would gather gems and the gold with them blend 
Of a thousand hearts, till my life should end 
In a heaven of love’s pure bliss.” 

— Bourne. 

A FEW years passed, and hope as a bright- 
robed fairy again entered my darkened 
life. Business called me to the great metropolis 
on my semi-annual trip. 

As I was leaving my hotel one morning, the 
clerk handed me a letter. I recognized the 
handwriting. Too impatient to wait until I 
had reached my destination, I opened and read 
it in the subway. As I perused it, I became 
oblivious of the multitude around me. My 
heart sang with gladness and the theme of its 
song was, happiness. 


213 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


At last I am vindicated! The farce is to 
be ended. My Love will cease his dual life. 
The entrance to the Garden of Eden is to be 
opened to me. My Love will lead me through 
the magic world with soft carpeted paths and 
leafy bowers, and as the light of the sun trem- 
bles into rose, and the flickering leaves fall 
from the trees, he will throw his mantle of 
love around me, as the bird shelters his mate 
with his wings, while she hides her bright eyes 
in the soft plumage of his breast, forgetting 
the world ; by the world forgot. 

The following letter may throw light on 
some other parts of my story: 

September 3, 1907. 

My Darling: 

Listen I I want to talk to you. There has been 
much of a sameness about my letters. This one will 
be different from any yet written. 

If any sentence causes you a pang, suppress it until 
you have finished, and you will then know and under- 
stand that there is nothing to cause you the slightest 
unhappiness. 

Now for years, you have noticed, beneath the ap- 
parent cheerful surface of my nature, a sub-stratum 
of unhappiness or discontent. You have noticed, I 
know, for you know me and understand me as no 
one else does. You are the one mortal that dwells 
in the inner sanctum of my life and you know its 
every emotion ; its every grief and pleasure. 


214 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I say you have noticed something of later years; a 
cloud, you knew not what. You have seen me grow 
impatient over trivial things. You have seen me at 
times, morose. You have seen much else to confirm 
this belief, and therefore I know it has not escaped 
you. 

You have been most patient and kind. You have 
done all that was within your power ; in the power of 
love and devotion, to dispel it, and I have seen you 
turn away in despair, because you have felt that your 
efforts were futile, and it was all without hope. 

Enough of this; the condition existed. What was 
its cause? I was a prisoner in a miserable dungeon 
of my soul ; of my own misguided thoughts ; and how 
I have suffered, no mortal save myself could know. 
Now, my fetters have fallen from me and I am lib- 
erated from the most miserable bondage to which man 
could be subjected. It is this: 

Years ago, a party told me something. Something 
that well nigh wrecked my life. I would have pre- 
ferred death from that day to this. It has eaten at 
my vitals like a canker. IT WAS ABOUT YOU 

To-day, that same individual, conscience stricken, 
for the injustice done you, and misery caused me, came 
to me and acknowledged the falsity of the statement 
made years ago. 

The Slanderer ! If it had been a man I would have 
exterminated him; but it was the other sex. 

Now, in humility and in love, I ask your pardon. 
I am happy, far happier than ever before in my life, 
and I wish that this night you could see me, and 
realize what I am to you, and will be forever, and you 
shall be happier hereafter than you have ever been. 

215 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I never believed it, yet it made me unhappy. I know 
now, that it was doubt that disturbed me, yet I would 
not allow myself to believe that any ignoble thought 
ever passed across the threshold of my mind ; but now 
I am emancipated from the wretchedness. Truth will 
vindicate in time, and much as I detest the falsehood 
that made me so miserable, I cannot but feel kindly 
toward the woman, who at last had the honor to do 
both you and me justice. 

I am going to say no more about the incident. Don't 
ever mention to me anything pertaining to it, I beg 
of you. I want you to indicate to me in your letter 
replying to this, that this letter has been received; 
say anything you may desire in that, and then we will 
drop the subject. I never want to think of it again. 
I have pledged my honor that I would never say who 
the individual was that told me this lie, so do not ask 
me who it is, for I don't want ever to refuse you 
anything again, but I will not tell you this. Do me 
the kindness never to mention it to me when we are 
together. 

I love you and honor you as never before. I have 
had the sweetest and most assuring evidence of your 
devotion to me, and I trust you to the end of the 
world. 

The past is closed ; is dead. I shall henceforth live 
for you and you only, and you shall yet know and 
understand how I appreciate these years of love and 
devotion to me. 

Oh, how I wish I could see you tonight, that you 
might see me and know and understand my heart's 
devotion to vou. I never loved you so much as now. 

216 


THE 


QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I never honored you as I do now. I feel such a lofty 
pride in you. Somehow, everything is so diflferent. 

Darling, you will think I am insane, but I am not. 
I only love you so much, and this is why I rattle on 
in this way. 

You will see me as I am, and as I feel toward you, 
and I fancy you will be happy. Yet a little while and 
we will live as Justice, Love and God designed we 
should. 

Tuesday Morning: — The lights went out at twelve 
o’clock last night, so I did not write as many things 
as I would have, so you see the lights were merciful 
to you. You might have been bored a whole lot more. 

This is a beautiful morning; cool and delightful in 
every way. Everything is robed in gladness. A sec- 
ond sense of joy seems to permeate the very atmos- 
phere. 

I wonder what you are doing this morning. I 
wonder if you are thinking of me. I wonder if you 
are loving me as I am you. 

Dear, be happy and cheerful; we are always going 
to be happy now. I am going to be good to you 
hereafter; there will not be one thing to cause you 
any unhappiness. 

I have not had a letter from you for three days, 
and am wondering why. Surely I will get one to-day. 
If I do not, I am going to feel awfully mistreated. 

My Precious Girl, I do hope you are happy and 
rested, and I must see you soon to retain by reason. 

With all my heart’s fondest love, I am. 

Your Very Own. 


217 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Thus my heart sang, and I dwelt upon my 
brilliant vision, but it would seem, I reckoned, 
without a true knowledge. 

“We please our fancies with ideal webs of 
innovation, but meanwhile, our life is in the 
loom where busy passion plys the shuttle to 
and fro, and gives our deeds the accustomed 
pattern.” 

Can you wonder that hope sprang into exis- 
tence with renewed life, its oft repeated efforts 
only to be crushed lifeless. My golden dream 
was but a day-time vision. 

“I said, I will forget. The little dead, 

Deserted heart of me can bear no more, 
Forgetfulness will bring content. I said, 

Then from the sorrowing past arose before 
My hungry eyes your face. I, I forget ! 

While beneath your feet my quivering heart lies yet !” 


218 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 


THE LOST SHADOW 

‘Tn my pathway lay a shadow, 

Stretching out so long and dark, 

That I feared the next step forward. 
With a heaviness of heart. 

“Then I tripped and stumbled blindly, 
Over stones I could not see. 

Till a voice so soft and sweet. 

Called from overhead to me. 

“Turn about, O weary traveler. 

Face the light of God’s own day, 

’Tis thyself that casts the shadow. 

That is darkening thy way. 

“Face the light so shall the shadow 
Lay behind thee, seen no more. 

And these stones on which you stumble. 
Shall be steps to heaven’s door. 

“As I turned to hear the message. 

Slowly moved the shadow too, 

Can it be,’ I cried in wonder, 

That the angel’s voice speaks true ?’ 

“Yes, ’twas self that cast the shadow 
I now prove this truth divine. 


221 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


For I am facing God’s own sunlight, 

And the shadow lays behind.” 

OOMEWHERE the sun shines all the while, 
^ could we remember this; after heaven’s 
tears, the rainbow smiles. 

We never travel the road of disappointment 
alone. It is trod by an endless procession, all 
of us wrapped selfishly within ourselves, pay- 
ing little heed to our companions in travel. 

Instead of carrying my burden with a vexed 
and querulous spirit, would it not be more com- 
mendable in me to seek to lighten the fardels 
of some who walk with me, who seem not so 
vigorous as I? The same thorns that pierce 
my heart are felt as keenly in the breast of 
others. 

Let no one say they have found life diffi- 
cult until they have known what it is to wait. 
Till they have waited through endless days; 
days that turn slowly into weeks, weeks into 
months and months into years, with every 
prayer a hope and longing for a word that 
does not come; the fulfillment of a promise; 
of vows renewed each day, each week, each 
month and each year, which in justice should 
be consummated. 


222 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


I had the presumption to believe that a mer- 
ciful Providence would eventually requite such 
a love as mine, and that in God’s good time, 
the man I loved so deeply would awaken to 
the realization of his treachery and his sin 
against the heart that has known but one love. 
I am forced to realize that my castles were 
built in vain; my dreams have all been illusive. 

Retracing one’s steps, going back, requires 
more bravery than to go on. If we could but 
know and understand that no outside influence 
can make us happy for long, we might awaken 
to the consciousness that there is a power with- 
in which we must seek and find; “Behold with- 
in thyself, the Heaven and Hell”; that life 
grows richer in whatever way we have to live 
it. It is as if the streams that feed it become 
more numerous as we descend from the heights. 

Life is worth the living! Life is glorious! 
We each mean something in the great sum the 
Divine mind is solving. 

It is now the first day of May, winter has 
passed. Spring is budding into beauty, into 
days of sunshine. My spirit rises to meet the 
smiling invitation of spring to clasp hands 
with summer; to let the dark days disappear 
in the mists behind; to let them have no lot 
or part in the life I shall henceforth lead. 


223 


THE QUEST ILLUSIVE 


Hope is resurrected in my heart and each 
succeeding thought a new beauty as I realize 
that: 

‘'Out of the depths fair pearls are brought, 

Out of despair Hope springs, 

Somewhere the evil to good is wrought, deep mid 
eternal things. 

Out of the darkness cometh light. 

Out of the tomb new life. 

Somewhere I know it will all be right. 

Victory after strife.’^ 

Tonight my heart seems brave with a new 
resolution. To the Past, I meekly bow my 
head in submissive renunciation. To the Pres- 
ent, I offer a spirit of resignation; to the 
Future, a life of reparation; to God I leave the 
weaving with an unceasing prayer for strength 
and as the stillness of night grows tense, I 
leave you. Dear Reader, to woo the God of 
Sleep. 


“The book is completed 
And closed like the day ; 

And the hand that has written it 
Lays it away. 

Dim grows its fancies. 

Forgotten they lie; 

Like coals in the ashes, 

They darken and die."' 


224 


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